The Perfect Gryffindor
by Theblackbook
Summary: Harry has it all. Recognition, power, knowledge, a father who cares for him dearly. Yet, what would you do if you learned that your entire life, even your very emotions, were a lie? Could you so easily turn away? Especially, if the father you thought you loved above all, was the Dark Lord.
1. Chapter 1

Summary:

Harry has it all. Recognition, power, knowledge, a father who cares for him dearly. Yet, what would you do if you learned that your entire life, even your very emotions, were a lie? Could you so easily turn away? Especially, if the father you thought you loved above all, was the Dark Lord.

 **The Perfect Gryffindor**

 _By: TheBlackBook_

Chapter 1

"Bring in the prisoner!" Lord Voldemort bellowed, his back straight, his face meeting the crowd commandingly.

The doors glided open. Two black clad men dragged an injured wizard in by his elbows. His hand and feet bound. The man was clad in scruffy robes, which might have been quite refined one time, but now bore signs of battle, captivity and injuries. He had dark hair reaching past his shoulders, and a pale but handsome face. When he looked up, striking grey eyes flew over the people gathered in the room, before landing on him, a small sad smile briefly went over his face, before one of the Death Eaters seizing him, pushed his head down.

He felt his own hearth sink.

Lord Voldemort stood regally over the prisoner, his snakelike eyes narrowing in disgust.

"Sirius Black. Born to one of the oldest families in Britain, an ancient family, with power and money most can only dream of… Yet, instead of standing by my side, like the rest of your prestigious family, you choose to side with the blood traitors. You choose to side with the _mudbloods_ over your own family - those who raised you, cared for you…" at this, the Dark Lord sent a small glare in his direction, but as always, he kept his face blank.

"Tell me, Sirius Black, why do you even feel that you deserve to live?"

Bellatrix Lestrange looked torn between giggling proudly or glaring at her estranged cousin, before she stepped forward and fell to one knee before her master.

"My Lord! Let me take care of the _traitor_! I will wrench the flesh form his body! I will rip out his eyes-!"

"Bella," the red-eyed man hissed sharply, but not in displeasure. Instead he turned to her with an almost smile, his gaze as cold as ice.

"I know you have waited for it, my dear bloodthirsty follower, but have patience… You will have your reward shortly."

The crazed woman stared up at him in total adoration, her yellowing teeth gnawing at her cracked lips in anticipation as she bowed deeply.

Voldemort stretched his arms out in an all including motion, and as he turned to meet his followers, he smirked out at the crowd of mostly black dressed people - many with white masks decorating their faces, filling the enormous hall.

"You will _all_ have an opportunity. This is just a taste of what is to come, my dear followers. Sirius Black is simply one of Dumbledore's pathetic Order, and he will be dealt with today!"

The man kneeling in front of the Dark Lord cast another look in his direction, but he would not let himself react, not let himself feel scared. They had both known the risk - Sirius had known the risk when he got himself involved with him.

"Harry."

The name was hissed in that almost parseltongue that made his skin crawl, but he stepped forward anyway. His feet never once faltering, his back straight and shin titled in classic superiority. The Death Eaters parted before him, some bowing respectfully, others badly hiding a sneer.

Falling to his knees before his Master, his Lord and protector. Harry kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"Yes, my Lord?"

He could feel the anger in those eyes, even without looking up. His scar was stinging fiercely, but he ignored it with practical ease. Even as Sirius trembled in anger some feet away from him.

"There have been questions, about your loyalties, amongst our dear followers…" The man looked down at him, and he titled his head up, meeting his Master's eyes. They were still narrowed in anger.

"Tell me, do you serve me faithfully?"

Harry could soon feel the spidery feeling of Lord Voldemort crawling into his mind.

"Of course my Lord."

Snakelike eyes narrowing even further. He could feel him searching, looking for just a flicker of deception.

"Will you do all that I ask?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Will you ever knowingly defy me?"

"Never, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort looked up at the man fighting his captors. Mouth forming words, a face stretched in fear and anger, a poisonous glare directed at the man holding him prisoner, but no sound would leave his mouth.

Harry could feel his gaze return to him just as cold, unyielding. He understood – had gotten it beat into him since childhood. It was either Black or him.

"Prove it."

Harry rose to his feet, his holy and phoenix feather wand shot to his arm with a small motion. He turned around and stared down at Sirius dispassionately. For a small second, the man stopped struggling to meet his eyes. A small simmer of hope filling them.

Harry's lips moulded into a sneer.

" _CRUCIO_!" he bellowed, his voice filled with hatred.

Standing in one of the mansion's many halls, Harry stared at the boy in front of him. He had the most peculiar hair he had ever seen, which he shared with the man who could only be his father, standing next to him. With his back straight, he let his gaze glide over the boy considering, never once giving a hint of what he was thinking. Lord Voldemort did not like it when he smiled or showed that he was scared, and he did not want the man upset with him today – not when he had so generously let him meet someone his own age. Mr. Gibson had never allowed that. However, he tried not to think about the old squib anymore.

It always reminded him of the choking sounds he made when Nagini ate him.

The boy seemed to be somewhat sulky, and a tiny bit nervous, if he read him right. He had pale skin and a couple of round grey eyes that right now were staring at the ground stubbornly. The man holding his hand, shared both his paleness and sleek white-blonde hair, but instead of nervousness, he seemed to give off an almost superior aura. His gaze was glued to him in a calculating manner.

"You must be young Master Harry," the man said, in a voice holding both interest and curiosity. Like a man discovering a new type of species, he wanted to dissect.

Harry gave him a small bow, almost as if humouring him, his gaze never leaving the other's. The man smiled pleased.

"Our Lord has informed me of your… existence. He wishes me to introduce you to my son."

Harry's gaze again went to the boy standing in front of him and this time their eyes met. The boy wore a sleek button up shirt, coupled with some short trousers, knee-highs and black polished shoes. He was studying him in return, his grey eyes suspicious, but with something else too. Envy? Harry could not be sure.

"My name is Lucius Malfoy, Master Harry, and this is my only son, Draco."

The Malfoy's, he knew of those. Rich, proud, and old blood. They had great influence in the magical world. At least that was what Lord Voldemort had told him. They were allies, strong allies, and this boy was the Malfoy patriarch's heir.

"Mr. Malfoy, Draco, it is an honour," Harry said, bowing again in greeting. The older Malfoy followed in style, but when his son did not, a stiff hand landed on his shoulder, forcing the boy to bend.

"The pleasure is all mine," the Patriarch said again, with a stiff smile, the hand on the other child's shoulder tightened ever so slightly.

"You will behave, Draco. I will pick you up again after the meeting."

"Yes, father," the boy mumbled, his gaze once more on the floor, a frown on his lip.

The man left with another short bow and closed the doors leading into the main part of the manor behind him.

Harry's gaze fixed once more on the boy, studying him, and several moments went by without either of them saying a word.

"Are you really…the Dark Lord's son?" the boy suddenly asked.

Harry's eyes snapped up to the face once more, and the blond-haired boy actually swallowed nervously.

"… You could say that," Harry answered thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Draco quickly asked, as if doubting him.

"He is my guardian."

"So is he like… your dad?" the boy asked fumbling for a correct word, but Harry understood either way.

"No. I am simply under his care."

"Oh…" he looked down awkwardly. "So, who are your parents then?"

Harry looked at him strangely. He would never have dared to ask so many question of a person he knew almost nothing about. Adults generally disliked having to answer questions they deemed as unimportant.

"I don't have any."

Draco stared at him surprised, seemingly new to such a response.

"Oh… Well, how old are you, then? I'm nine," he voiced, snobbishly, as if the number held a great importance.

"So am I," he answered, his stare never wavering.

They continued like that for several moments, Draco growing increasingly uneasy, before Harry interrupted the strained silence.

"… Would you… mind joining me in my quarters?" Harry asked formally, recalling that stalling for too long might be seen as rude. He had forgotten. He had never been in charge of a person before.

"Yeah, sure," Draco said, giving him another strange look, but followed him into his drawing room.

The Riddle Manor was divided in two parts. The ground floor was always prepared for guests and business, and was part of the building Lord Voldemort never allowed him to venture on his own. Only Lord Voldemort and close allies ever saw the first floor. The west wing was for guests, while the east wing split up into private living-, work- and bedrooms, and it was in one of these suites where Harry's private rooms were located.

The walls and most of the décor were done in a royal blue and white. A marble wizarding chessboard was standing in front of one of the three big windows. A sitting area was tasteful placed in a half-circle around the vast fireplace, where the Slytherin family crest hung above proudly in silver. Bookcases filled one of the walls, and a well-used desk was stacked with parliaments, journals and several feathery quills.

The blond-haired boy moved at once over to the chess set, sitting in the middle of the room, his grey eyes taking in the pieces.

"You play chess then?" the boy asked, his previous uneasiness forgotten, or ignored when faced with something familiar.

"… I'm afraid it is not often I have the chance," Harry answered reluctantly.

"But you know how to play it, right?" Draco said, already taking a seat by the board, studying the white pieces on his side.

Harry walked forward and took a seat opposite him, still staring at the boy almost without blinking.

"I've been instructed."

Draco looked up with a small smile. Some of his tenseness finally seemed to leave him.

"I don't really play much either. My parents are always busy, and Greg and Vince – they're my friends by the way, are really terrible at the game…"

Harry tilted his head and looked at the boy, intrigued.

"Do you know many children, then?"

Draco grimaced a bit at the word, as if he did not consider himself a child, but he answered either way.

"I guess… I mean, I've got a few cousins. And then there's Greg and Vince, they are the sons of my father's associates. Other than that… Well I guess I won't be meeting before I go to Hogwarts."

Harry had heard about Hogwarts. Lord Voldemort mentioned it quite a few times. The British school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was always going on about the founders, especially Salazar Slytherin, Lord Voldemort's ancestor. The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was quite well-known in the magical world. A dangerous manipulator, who beat the great Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald in a duel some decades back.

The two slowly started playing the game sitting in front of them, and minutes went by in a not quite comfortable silence.

"So, who taught you to play chess, Harry?" Draco asked with an annoyed frown when Harry slaughtered his queen without hesitation. Draco was good, but it was obvious he rarely played with anyone decent, as he often underestimated him.

"The Dark Lord of course," Harry said without looking up.

Draco almost tipped over in the chair he had been playing with.

"Th-the Dark L-Lord? Are you saying you play chess with _Him_?" he demanded to know in a rushed whisper.

"Why yes, there is no one else to play with," Harry answered calmly, looking at the other boy a bit confused.

"You mean…. you don't have any friends?" Draco asked, sounding almost concerned.

"Friends? I guess not. If you don't count Nagini – she sometimes comes by."

"You mean the Dark Lord's s-snake?" Draco whispered looking a bit queasy.

"Yes," Harry answered, but said nothing more about it.

Nagini was one of the only others he talked to, in Riddle Manor. She mostly stayed near Lord Voldemort, but when the Dark Lord was home for a longer period, she came by to watch him. Harry had never really gotten over his uneasiness with her, she had eaten the man who raised him after all – and simply because the Dark Lord had been displeased with him for teaching Harry to fear muggles.

Instead, he was to be feared by them. A minor misinterpretation.

That was almost four years ago now, but childhood traumas had a habit of staying in recollection, even after all the bloodshed that had followed later in life.

"So, do you enjoy flying?" Draco asked some minutes later, after they had finished a round, and started another.

"I've been instructed."

"But do you… like it?" Draco said, looking at him with an almost intense expression.

Harry met his gaze unflinchingly.

"You could say that."

Draco gave a sigh.

"But you never do it, right?"

"No, the Dark Lord wishes me to stay inside the manor," Harry answered untroubled and ordered another piece to move.

"So, what do you do every day? What do you do for fun?" Draco asked when it was his turn. It was clear that the boy was too preoccupied with his endless questions to think much of the game, so Harry turned to him instead.

He was obviously troubled about something. Draco looked almost concerned; his eyes were staring at him in a familiar expression. Like how Mr. Gibson used to look when Harry asked him where his parents were. He let his gaze travel to the writing desk taking up one of the corners in the room. It was loaded with well-used textbooks, neatly filled parliaments and journals in his own writing.

"I read my assigned books, do my theoretical assignments and practice the spells the Dark Lord has written down, and when he has time, he tests me. I am expected to be able to perform them fluently," Harry answered, trying to express the pride he felt over his work.

"So… You just… Study?"

"Yes."

Draco was really looking at him in pity now, but continued to move his pieces again, and they went on with the game, even though he was clearly distracted.

Harry never really went outside. The house-elves took care of all everyday needs, but he was still expected to never look sloppy or inattentive – even if there was no one there. He sometimes dined with Lord Voldemort, but most days he never saw another person. When he did, he was to act exactly as the Dark Lord had instructed him.

Lord Voldemort did _not_ accept disobedience.

Draco gave a sour scowl when Harry's bishop set his king in checkmate, making the white king smash his crown in frustration. Harry happily brushed away the pieces of the chess set that had landed on his robes. He even allowed a small, satisfied smile come to his face, though he was careful not to appear overconfident.

"You seem distracted," he pointed out, and watched as the shards set themselves together again.

Draco had been staring out the window thoughtfully.

"We should do something," the boy pointed out.

Harry blinked.

"What did you have in mind?"

Draco blew out a mouthful of air.

"I don't know. We could… Explore the manor! Or, go to the kitchen and bully the house-elves into doing something wrong… Or…"

" _Or_?" Harry asked, honestly feeling a bit alarmed.

Draco let his gaze linger on something outside the window. He got to his feet, opening it easily, and looked to be consider something.

The front side of Riddle Manor had a full view of Little Hangleton, while the backside had a garden the size of a small Quidditch pitch and a forest reaching far beyond. Draco was staring at the small broom shed standing by the back door.

He turned around, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

" _Or_ , do you want to experience some real flying?"

It took some convincing of course, and a whole lot of arguing, but perhaps it was the small-excited simmer Harry felt when he thought of just doing something new and different, without being ordered to do so for the first time in his life that made him buckle.

Draco was so different from everyone else he had ever spoken with. Almost brash in his decisions and quick to defend his actions. Harry found it harder than he had imagined to deny the boy anything, and though he felt slightly overrun by the blonde, he let it pass, hoping Draco wouldn't start disliking him.

They decided to climb out the window. The ivy growing along the walls had managed to grown quite tick over the years, and would hold them. As Draco suggested, Harry was ordering a house-elf to warn them, should someone start looking.

"If the meeting ends, or if you just notice a hint of people moving towards my rooms, you are to warn us, understood?"

The small elf bobbled its head repeatedly. Scarred fingers gripping the kitchen towel it bore as clothes fretfully. Its blue eyes were huge as golf balls as it looked at him nervously but determined.

"Yes, young Master, Ticky will warn you, sir!"

Draco was already halfway out the window, and yelled after him as loudly as he dared.

"Come on Harry, hurry up!"

Harry looked down at the small house-elf uncertainly. He knew it would follow his commands to the best of its abilities, but Lord Voldemort was the head of the manor, and he was not sure if the being would report it back to him or not.

"Don't reveal this to _anyone_ ," he ordered and the house-elf bowed loyally.

Finally satisfied, Harry looked down at the other boy. He had almost climbed all the way down. Giving a small smirk, he took out his wand from his sleeve, waving it over himself as he stepped on the windowsill.

" _Arresto Momentum_!"

A soft white glow encompassed him, before vanishing just as quickly. Leaning forward, he let himself fall, the spell slowing him down, making him descend and hit the ground just as Draco jumped the last feet.

"Whoa! How did you-?" the boy began spluttering, but Harry ignored him and set out for the shed, a finite charm leaving his wand. Draco followed close at his feet.

The brooms were the exact ones Harry had used when Lord Voldemort instructed him, and there were quite a few spare ones too.

Grabbing a broom each, they started walking towards the garden, carefully looking for anyone watching.

"We have to keep away from the east side since the meeting room is in that part of the building," Harry said and Draco nodded with a grin on his lips.

"Wait," Harry ordered, and the boy looked at him.

He took out his wand once more, and waived it over them both in a complicated manner several times, muttering under his breath.

"What is that?"

"Something to stop people from noticing us. It acts up if they really concentrate, but it is enough to stay somewhat hidden."

Draco grinned at him, before jumping on his broom. "Well, no use waiting around. We'll never fly that way!"

Harry gave a small wince when the boy let out a small yell in excitement as he pulled into the air, but he could not see anyone looking, so he slowly mouthed his broom and set to follow.

It was clear that Draco knew how to fly and probably did so often too, as he expertly flew up to him and touched his shoulder.

"Tag!"

The boy flew off into the distance, wanting him to pursuit him.

They thing about Harry though, was that he did not learn to fly for the enjoyment. Gripping his broom with both hands, he set after the boy as if there were some deadly foe at his feet - easily catching up with him, he clasped Draco's shoulder, before pulling a complete 180 right there, while still holding on to him and using him to boost his jump.

"Tag," he said in his ear, just before speeding off, a red-faced boy scrabbling to follow him.

"T-that's cheating!"

They flew around the grounds chasing each other for a while longer, before Draco gave up and asked to play a different game. Since Harry knew none, the other boy settled on trying to teach him a few Quidditch moves.

"The Sloth Grip Roll is especially important if you are the chaser," Draco said, doing a show of holding his broom a certain way, and crossing his legs underneath himself.

"You just have to roll around, when the Bludger approaches, and – whoa!"

In the middle of the roll, the boy's legs slipped, and he would have fallen, if Harry had not grabbed the back of his robes, hoisting him onto his broom.

A few seconds of scrambling, and the boy was sweating slightly as he held onto the broomstick.

"Yeah… that happens sometimes," he said, with a sheepish shrug, his face bright pink.

Harry tried, and failed, not to snort.

Just then, a small red light flew up to them, before exploding in a small fountain of sparks.

The boys look at each other shocked.

"The warning!"

"Let's hurry!"

Speeding up, still on their brooms, they forwent the shed when they saw somebody in the window, walking by. Flying up to the roof, Harry gestured towards the window, still open.

They rushed in.

Ticky was jumping from one foot to another, making small impatient noises.

"Young Masters, they are right outside-"

"Take the brooms!" Harry ordered, and the house-elf almost fell over when two brooms were thrown forwards. Just before they hit the ground, the house-elf vanished with a pop and the doors opened.

They were sitting by the chess set. Draco was ordering his white horse forward.

Lucius Malfoy let his gaze travel across the room, taking it in. Grey eyes lingered on the Slytherin crest over the fireplace.

"Draco."

The blond haired boy looked up from his position – lazily leaning onto the table.

"We're leaving already?"

The older man nodded curtly, a shimmer of amusement still in his eyes.

"But I still haven't let Harry win. It feels mean leaving like this," Draco said with a slight pout, and Harry threw the boy a small glare.

His mouth, however, was upturned.

"Perhaps another time, young Draco," a second voice answered.

Everyone in the room straightened at the sound of it, and the older Malfoy turned to greet his Lord with a bow.

The man standing just outside the door was dressed in dark, elaborated robes. His skin was chalk white, and a snakelike face held a pair of red-slit eyes. The man was tall, much taller than Mr. Malfoy, but his body was skeletal thin, making his hands and fingers appear unnaturally long and spidery.

Both Harry and Draco got to their feet, bowing.

Lord Voldemort walked further into the room, his gaze flickering to the still open window, before stopping in front of him.

Harry felt his neck prickling, and when two finger probed his chin up, he readily obeyed.

"Have you entertained young Draco suitably, Harry?"

"Yes, my Lord," he answered respectfully.

The man gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, as he stared at him. When he turned away, Harry let out the small breath he had been holding.

"Our guests, have shown a deep interest in you, Harry. Mr. Malfoy here seemed almost disbelieving when I told him about your powers …"

"I meant no disrespect, my Lord," the elder Malfoy almost stammered, but both his stance and expression remained straight and proud.

Lord Voldemort man held up a hand, to stop him from saying anything else.

"I completely understand, of course. Confidence must be proven…" At this, the man gave Harry a long look, and somehow, Harry just knew he had found out.

"Ticky!" Lord Voldemort called, and the house-elf popped in to stand before them.

It gave the Dark Lord a deep bow, but Harry could see it trembling like a leaf. Beside him, Draco swallow anxiously, his face even paler than normal as he too understood was what at stake.

Lord Voldemort placed a spindly hand on his shoulder, and Harry mechanically straightened, pushing all emotions off his face, even if his mind was in turmoil.

"Young Harry here is a very studious child. He has been trained for years in the magical arts, and has already proved himself quite sufficient with a wand."

The man looked over at Draco, and the boy stiffened even further, now quite visibly scared.

"Has your son started his magical training yet, Lucius?"

The older Malfoy gave a nod.

"Yes, my Lord. However, Narcissa insists that we stick mostly to the theoretical part of his education."

The man gave a small nod, as he stared at the blond-haired boy.

"Reasonable, of course. A child's magic can be quite unstable, and children are such … delicate creatures, after all."

He turned to stare at Harry, who tried to stop his hands from trembling.

"Harry, have you been practicing the spells I assigned you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And will you preform them sufficiently, and prove to us all, your … praiseworthiness?" There was a certain steely undertone in his voice, which Harry knew very well.

Fail – and he would not escape this easily.

"At you request, sir," Harry replied softly.

The silence in the room stretched for several second, only broken by the small house-elf's teeth rattling as it trembled in fright.

"Good," the Dark Lord said with an almost smile. A cruel glint in his eyes. "I have as of late found myself with an untrustworthy servant… And you know how I feel about traitors…"

The house-elf looked ready to faint. Its bulging gaze skipping from Harry, to the Dark Lord, almost pleadingly.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from displaying as much himself.

"What do we do with traitors, Harry?"

He tilted his head up in a well-practiced motion.

"We dispose of them, my Lord."

"Ah! But what if they know something we don't?" Lord Voldemort questioned curiously.

"We question them, my Lord," Harry stated in a low mechanic voice.

"But what if they won't answer us?" the man asked, his gaze boring into him.

"Then… we punish them…" Harry answered, his voice lowering uncertainly. Swallowing nervously, his gaze landed on the house-elf. The small thing was gripping the tea-towel it wore as clothes as if it were a lifeline.

Lord Voldemort too was studying the elf, a vicious smirk on his lips.

"Ticky? Have you done something you shouldn't have? Have you been hiding something from your Master?"

The elf once more looked at him, panicking, pleading. Harry felt his insides twist in fright.

"Please-" Harry began, but Lord Voldemort cut him off sharply.

" _Don't_ speak unless spoke to Harry. Ticky?"

"N-no, Master…" Ticky stuttered, her voice thin.

Lord Voldemort looked down at it coldly.

"Bind it."

Harry slowly took his wand out from his sleeve, and after another short glance at the older man he pointed it forward.

" _Incarcerous._ "

Thick ropes shot out of his wand, and slung itself around the creature. Ticky fell to the floor with a small gasp.

"Last chance Ticky," the man said with a cold smile. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"N-n-no, no Master-"

"Silence it," the Dark Lord commanded.

Harry swallowed, but waved his wand with a japing motion towards the elf.

" _Silencio_."

The charm hit the creature without much ado, and the next sound Ticky gave was silent. The round-eyed gaze kept jumping between him and the Dark Lord, now even more urgently.

"My servant won't answer me, Harry. She must be punished," Lord Voldemort commented, his gaze boring into him.

Harry shot him a short pleading stare, but the Dark Lord did not even react.

Bowing his head obediently, he murmured,

"Yes sir."

Lord Voldemort smiled cruelly.

"I want you to blind it."

Harry hesitated for a short second. A hand once more landed on his shoulders. He pointed his wand at the silenced elf.

" _Obscuro_ ," he intoned, and the house-elf imploring gaze was covered with a black blindfold.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, and he understood that he had made a stupid mistake.

"Permanently!" the Dark Lord commanded, angrily, and Harry felt his tongue turn to lead.

He looked up at Voldemort unsurely, but the red eyes meeting his were unforgiving and the hand grabbing his shoulder tightened painfully.

" _It's either you or the house-elf, Harry. Make your choice_ ," Voldemort said in a hissed whisper he recognized as Parseltongue. Red eyes glared down at him.

Harry looked at the creature, now terrified half to death. Its mouth open as it silently begged to be spared. Its body shaking uncontrollably.

Harry raised his wand, his face set in stone. It was either him or it. A blind house-elf or a blind Harry. Putting all the desperation and bitterness he could produce into the spell, he whispered,

" _Conjunctivitis Totalus_."

The spell was a curse, dark, impossible to undo.

A twin splatter, like two eggs being cracked, and the black blindfold was suddenly dripping with dark red liquid. The house-elf's mouth opened in a silent scream.

Harry could hear the boy beside him whimpering, but he forced himself to stare, forced himself to look at what he had done, even as he shook like a leaf. The Dark Lord demanded it.

Giving a small wave of his hand, the man turned away.

"I have no need of a blind house-elf. Dispose of it," the Dark Lord said without feeling. As if it was not Harry's fault the house-elf could not speak, could not see.

Harry was unable to stop his hands from trembling.

" _D-Diffindo Totalus._ "

The spell that shot from his wand only grazed the creature, who lay gasping in pain on the floor, but a sharp red mark appeared along its neck, breaking skin, and Ticky flinched violently.

"Again," Lord Voldemort ordered. His voice turning steely once more.

Harry threw a small pleading look at the man, but the coldness that greeted him, made him swallow any words. Glaring down at him, the Dark lord sneered.

" _And Harry_ , _do not disappoint me this time_ ," he said in a tone that left no room for mistake.

He could hear the other boy hyperventilating, but dared not turn away from his target, his victim. It was either him or it. It was either a house-elf or Harry.

He dared not close his eyes.

" _DIFFINDO TOTALUS!"_ Harry waved his wand in a sharp cutting motion, and a clear red light left it.

A short red shower sprayed across the floor.

Ticky's head fell from its shoulders with a quiet thud.

A few seconds went by in absolute silence.

Blood was seeping into the white carpet. The creature's bodiless head had frozen in a pain-filled grimace. The body laid limply, stretched along the floor.

"Leave," the Dark Lord ordered, and the elder Malfoy rushed forward, lifting the nine-year-old into his arms. He gave Harry a small, almost unbelieving look, before his face once more turned stony. Putting his arms around the other boy protectively.

He gave a small bow and was out in seconds. Escaping the tense numbness, the Dark Lord twisted the air into.

It only took a second.

The backhanded slap, he had expected, and he let himself fall to his knees in the blood the dead house-elf. He hung his head in shame, feeling his eyes prickle.

"Is this how you repay me?" the man stated coldly. Harry remained on the floor unmoving. Terrified.

" _Lying_ , to the man who raised you. Letting a child with less power than you tell you what to do. Even hesitating at a direct order."

The man grabbed a hold of his chin, gripping it so tightly it hurt and stared into his eyes for several tense seconds.

Harry could see himself in the man's eyes, could feel the pain from his scar tear into him like a painful curse. He gave a small whimper as he felt something twist and turn inside his head. All of a sudden, he remembered what the man had done for him, how he had taken him under his wing and provided him with knowledge, wealth and care. A family, a home, an upbringing most could only dream of.

Yet he abused it to satisfy his own childish needs.

He did not deserve any of it.

 _"_ _Yes, Harry…"_ the man whispered, and he felt his tears start running.

" _F-forgive me, Master, for disappointing y-you, for defying you. I-I am undeserving of your kindness,_ " he whispered back, in that same language. His face pale, his shoulders shaking.

 _"_ _Why do you hate me so, Harry? What have I done to deserve such disrespect?"_ Lord Voldemort asked sadly. His red eyes still boring into his.

 _"_ _Forgive me!"_ Harry cried almost desperately, he felt such misery, such guilt at what he had done, as if nothing would ever right itself again.

The Dark Lord stepped away from him, turning his back to him and shutting the window with a flick of his wand.

"You are not to let another child decide for you. You are _not_ to be led by your inferiors. Do you understand?"

Harry let himself fall to his hands.

"Y-yes, my Lord, of course, I-I was wrong, it was stupid of me-"

" _Quiet_!"

His jaw snapped shut and the man glared down at him, before letting a smile settle on his face just as quickly, the hatred in his gaze disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"You are not to let others lead you – instead, you are going to be leader," he said with conviction, pride, as if Harry could accomplish anything.

Harry looked up, full of awe and desperation. He would do anything, anything to atone for his mistakes.

"O-of course, my Lord, I will do _whatever_ it takes!"

The man gave him what he choose to interpret as a proud smile, a hand falling on top of his head. Harry leaned into the touch, and as if the man had given it permission, the despair slowly started seeping away. He gave a sob in relief.

Then, slowly Lord Voldemort stepped away.

"You must understand, my dear son. I only want what's best for you…"

"T-thank you… Thank you father…" Harry whispered over and over again, his eyes clenched shut in both guilt and relief.

Only the fact that the man still called him family, even after what he had done, made his eyes start running again.

"You understand, Harry, I will have to punish this transgression."

Harry bowed humbly, his forehead almost touching the floor.

"Of course my Lord, I was a fool to defy you," he replied earnestly.

"That you were, Harry. Lord Voldemort always knows when he is lied to. You would do well remembering that," the man said as he stood in front of him, his wand drawn. Harry bowed his head, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robe.

"Thank you, my Lord, for showing me the right path."

The Dark Lord smiled.

"You are welcome, Harry. _Crucio_!"

 _A/N: This story is already well on its way to completion. However, since I lack confidence and are trying to fix a few plot holes later on, I publish this in the hopes of getting motivation, constructive criticism and reviews telling me if people like it or not. Thank you._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

" _MORSMODRE_!" a silver masked wizard roared.

His wand lit up the sky as the green spell flew into the air, slowly forming the dark mark over the remnants of the Quidditch tournament. Fires, destroyed tents, a muggle family viciously tortured.

Harry watched as the green skull opened its mouth, a snake crawling out of it in a grotesque yet tantalizing way.

The Death Eaters standing around him fell to their knees, and he too bowed before the Dark Mark. Everything reeked of alcohol, sweat and blood. Some of the white masked witches and wizards around him were bloody. Others were quiet and shaking as the adrenalin wore off. There were quite a few people smiling, laughing among themselves and patting each other's backs, while others seemed more fearful of the implications.

"Death Eaters!" the silver masked wizard thundered, their attention turning to him unwavering, proud. Others in fear.

"The mission was a success!" At this, they roared in celebration, but Harry remained impassive. The white masked wizard beside him mirroring him. Back straight and hands knotted. It took several seconds for them to calm down.

"Our Lord will reward you greatly!" the man called, and the last of the celebrators were silenced.

"We have made history tonight. This is the beginning of our revolution. No longer will we be pushed down. No longer shall the mudbloods and blood traitors decide our laws. We are wizards and witches, and we shall rule the world! All hail the Dark Lord!"

A new roar in celebration, and this time it took even longer before they once more quiet down. Even Harry let a triumphant cry sound among the dozens of other white masked Death Eaters, a fist raised with his wand in his grasp.

It would probably have lasted longer, but the air was suddenly filled with pops of apparition, and spells flew out in every direction. People fled into the woods, some engaging the red-caped Aurors in duels, others running to save themselves.

Harry had to summon a shield as a stray curse almost smashed into him, and even after, he was careful to stay low as several curses flew over his head.

"How did they break the anti-apparition ward so quickly?" a black clad man yelled to another, even as they threw up transparent blue shields to stop some of the stray curses heading for them.

"I don't know, but they have erected a new one, I can't get out!" the other man yelled back, twisting around several times as if to prove his point.

Looking around he tried to catch sight of the other white masked wizard, but there were too many people, too many masks.

A green, buzzing curse flew past, almost hitting him, and Harry tried moving further away from the fighting. However, suddenly he found his road blocked by a tall, red-robed man, with short-slicked hair and an angry sneer directed at him.

"Halt, Death Eater scum!"

Harry did not.

" _Convulso_!" he spat, a red curse heading towards the Auror's head, but the man jumped to the side, a stunning curse rushing away from him.

Harry side-stepped it, and threw several curses meaning to maim or seriously harm, as he ran away from the battle. The man, however, followed steadily, not about to let his adversary escape.

They reached the woods. The man posed to strike once more, and Harry shot a spell wide, up towards the nearest oak, making the man glimpse up confused, before deciding the spell was simply misfired.

"Expelliarm-wha-!" he reached to yell, as a tree branch came to life and suddenly took a whack at him, sending him flying.

Harry ran in the other direction.

The forest only got thicker from there, and Harry stopped to breathe when he caught glimpse of another wizard running off, this one in a green robe, with a Quidditch team covering his front and back.

Looking around quickly, he vanished his mask, and transfigured his clothes to look the same.

An explosion went off in the distance, and Harry hid behind a line of bushes when he caught sight of a couple of Auror's running by, their wands out.

"Pst!" a voice from a nearby bush sounded.

He turned around quickly, his wand raised to strike.

"Hey," a teenaged girl whispered, displaying her hands to show she was unarmed. "you can hide with us, if you'd like."

There was plenty of room, and the bushes around her made it easy to stay hidden. He could barely glimpse the two others sitting behind her.

"Hermione! We even don't even know him!" a red headed boy whispered at her harshly, but the girl simply glared back at him.

"He's just a boy, and he's alone. He won't harm us," she told him quietly. Giving him a short one over, she raised a brow. "right?"

Harry nodded shortly, before moving over to their hiding spot.

There were indeed two others, beside the young girl. The redheaded boy and a shorter, plumber wizard with dark blonde hair and frightened eyes.

"I'm Hermione by the way. What's your name?" the girl asked kindly. She was dressed as a muggle, with jeans and a plain jacket. Her hair was thick and frizzy, kept up in a ponytail.

"Harry," he said quietly, his gaze skipping between the three shiftily.

"This is Ron and Neville," she pointed to the pair, when neither came forwards to introduce themselves. The redheaded boy was still glaring at him suspiciously, while the round boy was too busy biting his lips.

The three others stilled as a man came running by, stopping to look around quickly, his breath uneven. Hermione kept her gaze locked on him, her jaw clenched, but as he moved away, she let out a breath in relief.

The three spent a several minutes in silence, but as nobody else even came close, the others went from watching out, to glancing at him curiously.

"You don't go to Hogwarts to you?" the girl asked, something that seemed to make the redheaded boy even more distrustful.

Harry spent a second considering her, before he shook his head.

"No, I do not."

"But you speak English… Do you go to one of the international schools?" she asked curiously, her brown eyes lightening up.

"You're not from Durmstrang, are you?" Ron asked, his whole countenance revealing what he would do if Harry said that he was.

"No," he answered simply, gazing at the boy without feeling, before turning to smile polity at the nosy girl. "I'm actually home-schooled."

The bushy haired girl raised a brow.

"How come? If you don't mind me asking. Hogwarts is supposed to be one of the best school you can attend. Why would you choose to be home schooled instead?"

Harry simply shrugged.

"My father is quite picky, says they are too old fashioned. Whatever they could teach me he reckons he could do better, without the preconception certain schools abide by."

At this, Hermione looked at him sceptically.

"The Ministry has too much to say about what is taught and how, hinders creativity and ingenuity, he says. So much magic is dying out because no one teaches it, while incompetent or unenthusiastic teachers are employed, simply because they follow the right programme…" Harry answer her unasked question, with the same kind smile.

"I see," Hermione said frowning, Harry could tell by the way her eyes strayed to the ground that she took this opinion into consideration. Maybe she wasn't half bad after all.

"Enough, about school-stuff, it's summer," the red headed boy scoffed, putting away his wand.

A foolish decision, Harry decided, as he stared at the boy silently.

There was a new silence, this time as a new explosion went off in the distance. Hermione kept glancing over at the lanky built boy. Ron looked to be deep in thought, his fingers clenching and unclenching in frustration.

"I'm sure she's alright," Hermione suddenly voiced. Her tone was soft and kind, but there were no hesitation on her face as he looked at her. "Besides, Fred and George are with her. I doubt they would ever let anything happen to her…"

"Yeah," Ron muttered.

The other boy gave a trembling sigh.

"Gran must be so worried. She is no doubt expecting me to show up anytime now… She gave me a private portkey in case anything like this would happen…"

"Have you tried it?" Hermione turned to him, her voice hopeful.

The boy flushed. Unable to meet her gaze, he started fiddling with the sleeves of his brown cardigan.

"Yeah… right after we saw that the portkey was gone…. I-I sort, panicked. If it had worked, I-I'd be long gone by now…"

"Oh," her expression dimmed.

"What? You would have just left us here, if it had?" Ron asked angrily. The boy shrunk in on himself. "Some Gryffindor you are," the boy snarled, but Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay… You panicked, it was your flight-or-fight response kicking in, it's completely normal."

"Fly-or-what?" the redhead asked confused.

"Flight-" Hermione began irritably, but Harry interrupted her.

"Flight-or-fight. It's an instinct all living creatures have when faced with danger. Our body prepares to either defend itself, or run. You reacted on instinct."

All three stopped to stare at him. Hermione in wonder, Ron and Neville in astonishment.

"T-thanks," Neville stuttered, his face red, but his eyes grateful.

"Great, another one," Ron muttered quietly, but Hermione elbowed him in the stomach, before turning to him curiously.

"So, Harry, did you come to the Quidditch World Cup with your father? Did you split up?"

Harry simply smiled.

"No, I came here with my Uncle. Unfortunately, we lost track of each other when the combat started up, and since my Portkey stopped working I've been trying to stay out of sight until the wards are lowered."

"I see," she smiled back. "Ron's father and older brothers went to help, we got split up with the rest, and haven't managed to find any adults we know yet."

"It's better to just stay out of sight, until the Aurors have finished what they started," Harry said reassuringly, and they all nodded in agreement.

The hour went by quickly after that, though mostly in silence. Every once in a while, they could hear spells being cast and people yelling, but as the minutes dragged on, the conflict seemed to slowly come to an end. They all believed it had stopped, when a wizard suddenly came limping by.

Harry discovered him first, and signalled for the others to stay still. The man seemed to be injured, as he stopped to cast several spells on his leg. Just as he was moving on, he looked around, only for Hermione to gasp.

His face was covered in a white mask.

It was what revealed them to him.

Several red curses shot towards them, and Harry threw up a shield just in time.

"Go," he ordered, and the teenagers moved from their spot.

The Death Eater kept advancing, his casting quickening, and his spells turning violent. A tree went tumbling as a curse hit its base. Harry kept the shield up the entire time, strengthening it with a whispered incarnation every time it started breaking.

The children hid behind him, but he pushed them away.

"Go, leave," he hissed, another incarnation leaving him.

"B-but…" Hermione began.

"NOW!" Harry shouted.

They started to run. Ron and Neville each taking a hold of Hermione to drag her along. A couple of curses flew at their feet, but they escaped unscathed. There was a small pause in the casting as the man stepped on his injured foot wrongly and fell to his knees, and Harry lowered his shield. The man looked at him confused. They stared each other up and down, before lowering their wands.

"Stand down, Death Eater!" a voice yelled from the direction the children had run.

A red-headed man came running. He had the same lanky, thin built as Ron, if a bit taller and with glasses. Behind him were a group of wizards, their wands blazing. Before he reached to react, the man pulled an arm around his neck, while his wand went to press against his head.

"You will stop where you are!" the injured man called at them, and the five wizards stopped in the tracks. Beyond them, Harry could see Ron, Hermione and Neville peeking from behind the fallen tree.

"Let him go, Death Eater!"

The wand pointing at his head started glowing a chilling green.

"Keep your distance!" the Death Eater yelled, sounding quite deranged, and Harry gasped as the wand was trust under his neck instead.

Staring at them pleadingly, Harry let the man pull him back, using him both as a support for his failing leg and as a shield from the five wizards.

"I SAID KEEP YOUR DISTANCE!" he roared as the man who had to be Ron father took a step forwards, his face pale and jaw tight.

Stepping back, they could only watch as Harry was dragged further away. He could see Ron pushing up in anger, but that Hermione and Neville tried their hardest to hold him back.

Harry gasped in pain as he was pulled back, the wand now digging into him harder as they shuffled away.

Then a rippling went over the whole area, making everybody look up as a shield, previously unseeing, became viable, before dispersing.

"NO!" the redheaded man called.

Harry felt a portkey activate, and both he and the Death Eater were pulled away, even as the others cried out and lifted their wands.

They were deposited rather harshly on a wide gravel road. Harry was quick to get to his feet, a hand picking up the wand he had lost during the tumble.

The Death Eater too stood up, before removing his mask. A thin, lined face with bloodshot eyes and a mop of fair hair.

"You acted superbly, Master Harry. The Dark Lord will be pleased," he grinned wickedly, a thin tongue coming out to wet his lips.

Harry stared at him loftily.

"Well, he'll be less pleased with you, Barty. I seem to remember that you were to stay by my side at all times. Yet, when the Aurors arrived, you vanished at the first spell."

The man bowed, the grin still not leaving his face.

"My deepest apologies young Lord, I only sought to protect you. There were too many to fight, I had to take down a few before I could find you."

"Too busy enjoying the bloodbath, to assist me you mean," Harry sneered before using his wand to re-transfigure his clothes into his usual refined black robe and trousers.

Heading up the wide road, he conjured a new mask, he did not need to look back to know Barty did the same.

Riddle Manor in Little Harlington remained mostly unchanged from the manor he grew up in. Some renovations had been made, and several bedroom had been added, but mostly everything stood as it always had. Harry let the wards wash over him and strode up the broad stairs and in the rusty old gate that opened on its own accord. He could feel several sets of glowing eyes on his as he passed the garden, but paid it no mind. Lord Voldemort had made a lot of treaties and promises in recent years, and quite a lot of creatures had joined their cause. Most held only a minimal amount of intelligence, so it would be best to keep out of their way, in case they forgot who the enemy was and wasn't.

He entered Riddle manor, Barty closing the door behind them and shooing away the house-elves trying to take either his coat or otherwise trying to push healing potions his way.

Harry ignored them, and moved towards the room standing at the end of the hallway.

There were already quite a few Death Eaters hanging about, either being helped up to a room, or standing in circles talking. Most had probably gone straight home, to ward off suspicions. There were no way to tell yet how many had gotten out alive.

"You are late," Lord Voldemort said, as he entered the dining room. The man was sitting at the head, a couple of wizards around him.

Harry bowed deeply, before stopping at the end of the hall. Neither he, nor Barty moved from their position until the last of the Death Eaters were done and heading out.

When they did, the doors closed on their on volition.

Lord Voldemort stepped towards them, making both Harry and Barty bow their heads in respect.

"Report, Barty," Lord Voldemort ordered, and Harry's teeth ground together as he fought to contain a jealous glare.

Barty was quick to tell of the night's raid. Where they started and what they accomplished, but through it all, Harry only felt bitter displeasure. Bitterness and envy that the Dark Lord chose to hear the older man's recounts of the event, when he too had been there, seen everything he had and done well as much as him, if not more.

Barty had not been the one who cast Fiendfyre on the Quidditch stadium, which not be held off by any light spell work, and had kept the few Aurors present busy trying to contain it. He had not been the one to spot the muggles first. Nor had he had the idea to confound the first Aurors they encountered to run in the other direction, calling for assistance as they left. Harry had done those things, and he had _excelled_.

Barty had not done half of what Harry had. Yet, _he_ was the one Lord Voldemort asked to give his report.

"Few of our brothers and sisters were caught, my Lord. None were in your inner circle. I believe it will leave little impact on the moral of those truly loyal to you…" Barty ended.

Lord Voldemort was quiet for a long time, studying them.

"And how were my old servants, Barty?"

"They were kept in check, my Lord," the man eagerly answered, stepping forward to bow again, "not a single one forfeited and all completed their duty reliably."

The Dark Lord gave a quiet hum, and it felt like an eternity before he gave them his verdict.

"Excellent."

Both men started to relax.

Turning so that his back faced them Lord Voldemort walked over to one of the big windows overlooking the small muggle village.

"We have let the blood traitors decide for too long. They have gotten comfortable in their position… They have pushed our own laws away, submitting to the muggle's view of what is unnatural and wrong. Muggles! What do they know of our world, of what we are? How can they even hope to understand us?"

Lord Voldemort stretched his arms out, encompassing the entire village underneath him.

"We will reclaim these towns. No longer shall we forfeit our villages so that muggles can expand theirs. No longer shall we have to crawl into every nook and cranny we can find, to build our homes. This is end of the muggle era, it is time we took back what was rightfully ours …" the Dark Lord turned towards them. Barty was grinning haughtily at his Master, Harry's eyes shone in awe.

"We will take back our towns and cities. Our landmarks and positions. Drive the muggles and mudbloods away, preferably kill them to stop any uprising. Then, the British wizard world will be allowed to expand and flourish. Instead of hiding like sewer rats," he sneered, turning around, his anger was gone, replaced by a calculating look.

"However, time is now, and the first steps needs to be taken, the first battles won."

"Yes, my Lord," they answered eagerly.

"You are dismissed until further notice, Barty. Harry, stay behind."

Barty walked out hurriedly, closing the door softly behind him. The Dark Lord walked up to him, a pale, spidery hand closed in on him, gripping his chin and tilting it up. Harry stared up at the red eyes of his father without feeling – or rather, all thoughts seemed to simply melt from his mind. Seconds went by wither neither of them blinking, before the Dark Lord nodded pleased, letting him go.

"You have served me well tonight, Harry," the man commented after a few seconds.

Harry bowed pleased, he could feel the pride renew in his chest as he remembered the control he had exhibited, the way the dark spells came so naturally to him. The awe, too, of his father seemed to only multiply.

"Thank you, Master."

"Your training is advancing, I hope?"

"Yes, sir. Barty has been practicing duelling with me, every day for the past week."

"Good, then you are ready for more advanced practice."

"Yes, sir," he replied with a very small grin.

"Then we will start tomorrow at sun rise. I expect you to be ready to perform the spells I assigned you last… "

Harry looked up surprised, Lord Voldemort had made him revise on the theory behind the Unforgivables once more, but he had never been asked to perform them. Pride welt up in his chest as his father finally found him worthy of such powerful spells.

"I will, my Lord."

Voldemort sat down on his chair once more, his hand landing on the scaly head of Nagini, who had come slinking in during the short meeting.

"You have trained hard, my son. Your spell reportage alone could put many adults to shame."

Harry gave a humble bow.

"However, you are not to get inflated. Your position is clear, it is time you proved your powers to my Death Eaters. In six months' time, we will be attacking Azkaban, and I myself will help break the protection. I want you to join my followers into the prison, not only as a participant, but as a leader. I want you to bear the silver mask next time. I believe you have earned that right."

Harry looked up, meeting the red eyes of his father, shocked. Pride welled up in his chest, tingled with nervousness. Was really ready for this?

Then, all doubt seemed to simply melt away. Instead, he felt an intense need to make his father proud, to prove his worth.

"I will be ready, my Lord."

"That you will be," he said with a lipless smile.

Harry was dismissed to his rooms, his head was buzzing in both excitement and impatience. He wondered if it was too late to return to his studies.

The evening progressed quickly after that. The turning of paged, sometimes joined by the scribbling of parchments were all Harry heard for the next hours. It was not before a house-elf popped in with tea and a rolled up parchment that he took a small break. The letter was sealed with an expensive looking red bow and the coat of arms of the Malfoy family.

Taking a sip of his tea, he untied the letter, a small smile settling on his lips.

 _H._

 _The game was bloody brilliant! It's too bad you were busy, but I want you to know Ireland defeated Bulgaria 170-160! Krum caught the snitch way too soon, ending the match, but it was a close call. Father bought me a nice pair of Omnioculars, so I've got the whole game recorded, if you want to see it._

 _The Minister of Magic had already pre-ordered extra tickets for my family in the top box, which would have been just perfect if that hothead Weasley and his family didn't show up too. Whoever gave them tickets - because there is simply no way they could have bought it themselves, had been so "nice" to include one for his mudblood-girlfriend, the know-it-all Granger, and the spineless, Longbottom idiot. It was almost not worth staying._

 _It was fun, though, watching the Weasels and the squib almost fall to their deaths when the Veelas arrived. No self-control in that stock._

 _The game was great, but the after party was grand, if you know what I mean._

 _I got out early, but had a perfect view over the whole campground. Including when Longbottom, Weasley and Granger came running. I swear Longbottom was crying his eyes out, and Weasel almost attacked me on the spot - accusing me of everything. Ha, if he only knew…_

 _Anyway, the day was great. Father promised I could come by next week, so I'll see you then._

 _I'll bring the Omnioculars along!_

 _D.L.M._

Draco wrote him every week, had since the first time they met. Harry suspected Lucius Malfoy stood behind, since knowing people was everything in the pureblood circles, and Harry was definitely someone worth knowing in the coming war. The older boy, though reluctant at first, had started up a steady stream of letters, where he mostly ranted about his days, the unfairness of life itself and long paragraphs where he bragged about certain events he had been part of and things he had seen.

The two had started up a strange friendship through the letters, which only reinforced itself when Mr. Malfoy started bringing him along to visit. Today, Draco was the only child his own age he really knew, his only friend, and the contrast between them could not be bigger.

Draco went to Hogwarts now, he was a popular boy, both envied and respected by his fellow students. Teachers either adored, or tolerated him, students either understood his esteem or hated him for showing it. He was a loud-mouthed brat, with wealth, allies and friendships most could only dream of, and a family who loved and spoiled him rotten. Yet at the same time, he was innocent, almost childlike in his view of the bigger world. He did not understand war, yet he wished for it, he did not enjoy bloodlust and necessary cruelty, yet he wanted to become a Death Eater. It did not help much that the boy had a head so inflated; he could barely see the ground – but he also refused to listen.

Therefore, Harry watched and waited. His patience at times waning thin and his tolerance of the boy stretching dangerously. Yet at the same time, he could not fault the boy for being himself. Besides, who knew, maybe one day he would come to need this friendship, when the war was dragging on and true allies were hard to find.

 _D.L.M._

 _It sounds like you had a pleasant day. I look forward to hearing all about it come next week. The night was successful, as you have probably understood. My father was pleased and he has chosen to advance my training even further._

 _I will most likely be quite busy these coming months._

 _I look forward to your visit,_

 _H._

That night, Harry slept fitfully. His dreams involved plans for future take-overs and battles. The strategies too complicated for him to yet understand, involving spells and rituals he could only hope achieve. All the while, his scar was prickling, his eyes moving wildly underneath his lids.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Thirty black clad wizards and witches were outside the Hall of Prophesies. This was the first large scale mission since the huge breakout from Azkaban – led by mass murderer Sirius Black, as the Minister choose to tell the public.

Bellatrix was giggling in excitement beside him.

"Is it time? Is it time to take it, young Master?" she asked, yet again, in that childish voice of hers.

"Soon, Bellatrix, very soon," he said softly, trying to keep his patience.

The woman was a can filled with cracked marbles, but her duelling skills were top notch, even better than some of the more seasoned Death Eaters – who hadn't been in Azkaban for over a decade.

Getting inside the Ministry was ridiculously easy. They had even cut down on their guards according to their inside spy, Yaxley. Fudge was apparently keeping his head in the sand and refusing to believe Dumbledore's words that the Dark Lord was back, and had in fact been back for several years. There was never any proof of course; Lord Voldemort knew an advantage when he saw one.

Lucius Malfoy gave his signal, and over half of the Death Eaters disillusioned themselves, leaving five lone people in front of the door.

"Remember - the Prophesy is our first priority," Malfoy said to the room as a whole, before turning to him. Harry gave a nod, and the doors were opened.

"Stay close to me, young Master," he said from behind his silver mask, as feet rushed past them into the room.

Shelves upon shelves with dusty glass orbs in different sizes stretched across the room and high up the ceiling. The circular room had rows stretching in all directions from the middle, while small candles, with flames in eerie blue, burned in between the shelves. They moved along the rows toward the centre, passing curved numbers underneath the burning flames.

"It's in row ninety-seven," Malfoy said, almost to himself, as he began moving, lifting his wand.

Harry walked with quick, sure steps. Malfoy's wand illuminating a small circle around them. He could hear people walking around, some spreading out, others hiding their disillusion badly, bumping into each other and whispering.

The end of one of the many shelves slowly came to an end, and the four others huddled around Malfoy as he came to a stop at the row labelled ninety-seven.

"This is it, young Master," the man said, giving him a small nod. Harry looked back at him through his mask with a short glance, before taking a step forward.

The small glass orb was no different from the rest. Covered in dust and grime, while the blue flame nearby made it spark dissonantly. Lord Voldemort had never told him why the thing was so important, other than the fact that it was a prophesy made over a decade ago. The Dark Lord had instructed clearly, that Harry would be the one to lift it from it shelf at the Ministry and deliver it to him – at all cost.

It had been the ultimate sign of trust from the Dark Lord's side. Now it was Harry's time to fulfil the other end of it.

Harry lifted his hand slowly, and closed it around the small glass ball. It fit perfectly in his fist, no bigger than an apple, and it warmed nicely in his hand, like the glimmering light from the flames had heated it. He looked down at the orb in awe, pushing some of the grime and dust away. He was just about to hide it away in a pocket, when a crash sounded from the doorway.

Lifting his wand, he only reached to point it at the sandy haired, older man, before he was forced to duck as a spell flew towards him.

The shelf and glass orbs behind him exploded, raining over them.

"It's the Order!" Bellatrix shrieked furiously, as she too was forced to drop. The witch was quick, however, and had curses sent in the other direction before she even reached to hit the floor.

Spells, curses and calls suddenly filled the room, as the Order of the Phoenix came rolling in from the entrances.

"We got the orb, let's go!" Malfoy yelled, forcing back the enemy, and making a clear pathway to the next level.

Harry lifted his wand casting every delaying jinx, curse and charm he could think of, while he gradually followed Malfoy and Bellatrix who were cursing every person in their way.

"Don't let them get away! They got it! They got the Prophesy!" a sandy haired man yelled after them, but Harry was too busy pushing ahead to bother looking.

The Death Eaters who had been disillusioned, begun appearing, and the previously dark room was lightened up in spell-fire. Following Malfoy's lead, he backed into the next room, people falling behind him.

"Young Master!" Bellatrix suddenly yelled, and he turned around, only to be caught by a yellow coloured light in the stomach.

He gave a small shout as the Prophesy fell from his fingers.

People were rushing in, and the small glass orb went rolling further away when someone mistakenly kicked it.

Harry pulled himself up, the jinx has most likely given him an ugly bruise as it felt like a punch, but he pushed the pain away, as he was forced to defend himself. The spells rained from all angles, and only his intense training in evasion and quite a bit of luck made him able to avoid it. Using his small size, he glided between a Death Eater and an Order member, trading spells and rushed for the Prophesy. It was slowly rolling for the edge of a platform, and with no time to cast anything he jumped, grabbing it mid-fall.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, he barely noticed the dog before it jumped headlong into him.

"Ugh-!"

"Woof!"

The pure black fur and huge size almost made it resemble a Grim, but instead of glowing, red eyes, it had stormy grey ones. Its teeth and claws were big, but normal for an average dog. The animal grabbed the glass orb in its jaw and set off in a mad dash for the exit.

"Oh no, you don't…" Harry was at his feet in seconds.

The battle was still in full swing and none of the Death Eaters could be drawn from their positions. He turned back and followed the animal.

The Golden Fountain of Magical Brethren greaten him. He could see the dog on the other side and jumped up on the podium.

" _Expelliarmus_!" the charm landed and the Prophesy flew from its mouth with a yelp.

He ran along the fountains edge and snatched up the orb from the air, before landing on his feet. Then, right in front of his eyes, the dog transformed into a black-haired human, with what seemed to be a rebelling mixture of muggle and old-fashioned wizarding wear.

"Animagus…" Harry reached to sneer, before the man was throwing spells at him at a rushed pace, forcing him of the defensive.

" _Stupify_! _Everte_ _Statium_!" the man yelled, but Harry put up a shield just in time.

" _Protengo Duo! Expolso_!" Harry cast, but was soon forced backwards towards the fountain.

They dulled at a higher and deadlier level, but Harry had a mission to accomplish and could not afford to waste it testing his strength. The Prophesy had to be taken to the Dark Lord.

In a risky move, he carted the water from the fountain into the air and made it boil – the damp giving him a few precious second to escape, while the scorching water was sent at his opponent.

"Oh no, you don't!" the man yelled and a blue curse was flung underneath the water, just before damp descended over them.

The Prophesy rolled to a stop against the fountain and Harry felt something warm trail down from the side of his head. His mask had absorbed most of the hex to his head, but it must have cracked, he realized, as almost half of his face felt the staleness that had descended over the room.

"Don't move."

Harry tensed in his position on the ground. How had the man escaped the boiling water? Well, did it honestly matter? He thought to himself. His wand was lying several feet away, any sudden movements and he could be as good as dead.

"Now turn around slowly, hands were I can see them."

Harry carefully did what he was told and met the face of a man in his mid-thirties. He had a deadly pale and sunken face, as if he had forgone sunlight and real food for the last few years. His dark hair and beard however, were well conditioned and tidy. He held a certain similarity to Bellatrix Lestrange and Harry guessed he must be a Black.

The man's stony expression slowly turned to complete shock.

" _J-James_?!"

He could not let himself be distracted, and if his enemy was, he would take advantage of it. Leaping to the side, he snatched up the wand he had lost, and pointed it at the man.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " The green curse burst forwards and would have hit his target dead centre, but Black, if that was who he was, had not stumbled backwards just in time to avoid it.

Harry was already at his feet, grabbing the Prophesy and shooting curses at them man, pushing him back. This time, he was on the offence, as Black seemed almost shell-shocked.

Slowly, he seemed to regain his bearing.

A shield appeared between them, and a blasting curse was deflected back on him, forcing Harry to duck. The curse hit the floor behind him, sending a small shower of debris. There was a small pause as both regained their bearing, and their eyes met.

"No… not James… Harry?" Black whispered confused, almost questioning.

He ignored the distraught voice, and pushed everything away. Pointing his wand at the man, he tried to make himself some time to run.

" _Crucio!_ " he growled in near desperation, the spell went right through the shield and the man, again too stunned to move was hit with the full brunt of it.

A high, almost yelp-like sound left him and Black fell to the ground twitching. Harry rushed past him, towards the fireplaces, as his portkey was useless here.

"HARRY!"

That name again, but he refused to stop. Black could have heard it from anyone. Well, perhaps not _anyone_ , since only close allies knew him as Master Harry, like the Malfoy's who had known him since childhood and Barty who had earned the right after he escaped his own father. Moreover, they knew not to use the name in any public setting…

"I know who you are!" the man yelled desperately, his voice broken with sorrow and distress.

Harry knew not to stop, he knew not to let this unknown man tell him what to do, yet, his feet faltered, and Black - because he could only be a Black with those looks, saw the opportunity for what it was and continued. Harry could hear him stumbling to his feet, could hear his laboured breath and shaking undertone as he slowly limped towards him.

"You are … Harry Potter - you're the son of James and Lily… My godson…"

It almost sounded like he was crying, and Harry felt himself turn around before he could quite stop himself. Black had cuts along his cheek and upper arm. The Cruciatus curse had left him twitching. He must have injured him more than he realized, not that the man seemed to acknowledge it either, shaken as he was, then again, it seemed to be the grief that made him so unsteady.

"I-I…I thought you were… dead… "

Harry stared at the man motionless. He should kill him, to be on the safe side. Remove all evidence as Lord Voldemort had taught him to. Remove anyone who even gave a hint of knowing who he was.

He had not questioned it. Never.

If Lord Voldemort told you to do something, it was because he knew better. He knew the right path to follow. He was wiser, more astute and stronger than you would ever understand. Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at his enemy. A flicker of surprise in Black's eyes, realization that he was would be too late, too shaky for an appropriate defence. Then, Black's gaze flickered to the orb and resolve seemed to strengthen him somewhat.

"It's about you, you know?"

His own gaze flickered on the orb in his hand.

"It's about Voldemort's downfall."

Harry recoiled violently at the name – his scar stinging with phantom pain, his wand still pointed at the man. Black gave him a dejected look, but gathered himself hastily when Harry glared at him.

"He sent you to retrieve it, didn't he? He did it because he wanted _you_ to be the one to finally give it to him…"

Harry knew it was a mind game, a dangerous one, but he had always been too curious for his own good, always too nosy as Lord Voldemort had told him himself.

"I know what it says… I can tell you – or you can see it for yourself…" Black stated and pointed to the orb.

Harry's fingers tightened around his wand and Sirius lifted his hands in surrender, doing a show of placing his own wand in front of him on the floor, and kicking it towards him.

"It might help you understand… All of this …"

Harry eyed the glass orb considering. It might help him understand, to be of bigger service to the Dark Lord. If he understood, he might be able to help, to appreciate his Lord, father and protector on a whole different level, and if not, he reasoned with himself, if it was about Lord Voldemort's downfall, he might be of help preventing it. A small part of him pointed out that he also did it for himself, for his own peace of mind, but he squashed it ruthlessly. Everything he did was for his father. Everything.

" _Aparecium,_ " Harry spoke the revealing charm and tapped the Prophesy with his wand.

A glowing blue light ignited from the orb, before a voice, neither male nor female began speaking.

" _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."_

Voices were coming from hallway behind the fountain, the fight had escalated and only a few second went by before Death Eaters were storming in.

" _Born to those who have thrice defied him..."_

"Young Master!" one of the Death Eaters yelled, but the damp, which should have vanished minutes ago, still clung to the room as if a spell kept it in place, hindering anyone from really seeing them. The Prophesy was already in full play and Harry remained spellbound as the words washed over him, anxious to know the truth. Black likewise was watching, but Harry could feel him staring at him.

" _Born as the seventh month dies..."_

A chill went down his spine. Spells were sent their way and Black threw himself to the floor, seizing his wand he pointed it at the orb.

"… _and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal-"_

" _Deprimo!"_ the black-haired man yelled, and the spell caused the Prophesy to explode in Harry's hand. He just managed to shield himself as hundreds of flying glass fragments flew into the air and rained down on them.

"YOUNG MASTER!" Bellatrix screeched from the other side of the room, feet running.

Black looked up at him, his eyes desperate, pleading. Harry's own glaring distrustfully, holding his bleeding hand.

"If you want to know the rest, meet me _alone_ at the graveyard in Godric's Hallow, three days from now at 5 p.m. Then, I shall tell you everything you wish to know."

Black transformed. Only his pleading, grey eyes remained the same, before he rushed down the hallway, barely avoiding a red spell sent by a furious Bellatrix.

The mission had been a failure. Lord Voldemort had been enraged, cursing the Order of the Phoenix and followers alike. Harry had been lucky he escaped without a scratch. Mostly because his father was too busy yelling at Malfoy for losing sight of the orb. Dolohov on the other hand, barely escaped alive when it was revealed he had been knocked out by the first spell while guarding and only waking at the end, after the Prophesy had been smashed, to escape. The Dark Lord had been too furious for Harry to give a proper report and had sent everyone out with spells flying at their heels.

He had been locked up in his office ever since. Harry inspected the burning, red scar on his forehead with a small grimace.

"That look painful, dear. Maybe you should learn not to agonize him so much…" the gentle voice of the mirror, remarked.

"I guess so," he sighed and pushed a cold wet cloth to his forehead.

Entering his bedroom he let himself fall backwards into the bed waiting for him. It would be impossible to sleep right now. When the Dark Lord was enraged, Harry could feel it with his entire being. It was something he cherished and loathed at the same time. The pain itself could turn horrible, making him unable to sleep or focus, almost as if upsetting his Master gave him a divine punishment. However, the times the Dark Lord was in a good mood, happy, the pain would turn to pleasure. Harry could feel like bursting out in laughter or smiling for no reason at all – like he was simply meant to be joyful when his Master was.

It had always made him feel special, as if he held a superior bond to his father the Dark Mark could not beat.

The throbbing behind his lightning bolt scar was excruciating tonight, but he knew he deserved it. Letting himself be led like that, controlled like a puppet on strings by Black.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…" Harry muttered, before pushing the thought from his mind once more. He would report it, after Lord Voldemort calmed enough to listen.

Sirius Black had destroyed the Prophesy, Bellatrix had said, member of the Order of the Phoenix. One of her estranged cousins, who had joined the blood-traitors in his youth. Sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts, friends with blood-traitors, half-breeds and mudbloods alike. Thrown into Azkaban on suspicions of being a Death Eater after the last war, she had laughed, just a few cells away from herself.

' _Meet me alone at the graveyard in Godric's Hallow, three days from now at 5 p.m. Then, I shall tell you everything you wish to know…'_

As if… He would report that too, so that the Dark Lord could have his revenge, kill the blood-traitor who had abandoned his own family.

"Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies …" he whispered with a frown.

There must be dozen of children born in July all over the world, every year. Blood-traitors and mudbloods defied the Dark Lord every single day, by being what they were, by ignoring their fate – and no one defied Lord Voldemort. They would be killed by the end of the war, those who could not be turned, that was what his father had said. Sirius Black would die before long. No one survived if Lord Voldemort targeted them.

Harry lifted the soft cloth. His scar was still tingling, but the painful throbbing had disappeared. The Dark Lord seemed to have calmed a little, or maybe he had simply gone to bed. He let out a sigh of relief, his own eyes falling shut tiredly.

' _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…'_

No one were equal to Lord Voldemort, of that he was sure. There might be powerful wizards and witches out there, like Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall, but in the end, the Dark Lord remained undefeated, their attempts futile, their efforts in vain. Lord Voldemort would rule, and he, Harry would forever be standing by his side.

The small town house became visible for him and he stepped forwards with a confident stride. The black gate glide open and he followed a small path lined with flowerbeds and rosebushes to the door. He considered knocking, just for the heck of it, but instead he placed his wand at the doorknob, unlocking it.

Some safety charm must have been triggered, because seconds later he heard a distinct male voice inside the house shouting - frightened, terrified, just as they should be.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Feet running, shuffles and crying. He pushed at the door and let it glide open. The man on the other side was running around, looking for his wand. Pathetic.

" _Avada_ _Kedavra_!"

He was dead in a blink of an eye. Stepping over the dead body with black hair and round glasses, he continued up the stairs. He could hear a door being locked, could feel the buzzing of wards coming up, but he knew from experience such hastily set wards could be broken in seconds with the right amount of power. He lifted his wand while he walked, muttering countercharms under his breath until he felt the wards crumble, and then with a strong blasting curse, the door was blown wide open.

A red-haired woman with a pale face and striking-green eyes, he flicked her wand away in seconds, but she still lifted her arms in protest, her voice desperate.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" Behind her stood a child's crib, a baby boy with a tuft of black hair.

He took a step forward, into the nursery. Bright, baby blue colours, a miniature Quidditch set were charmed to fly in lazy circles underneath the ceiling. He focused on the woman in front of him, he had promised to let her live.

"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside, now," he said, pointing his wand at her.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —"

"This is my last warning —" he tried again, but she was too stubborn, too daft to realize she could walk away unharmed, alive.

"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything…" she sobbed, but it was too late. It was over the moment he heard of the Prophesy.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

A thump, another body left dead, another life wasted because they were too rooted in their own beliefs to ever change. Lord Voldemort stepped over the dead body. He looked down at the child sitting in its crib. His sworn enemy. This was the one with the power to vanquish him. Would this child too grow up to be like his parents? Would this child too, defy him over and over again? Or… could he be reformed into something else …

Harry awoke in his bed with a gasp. His scar felt like it was on fire. His breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears, and the prickling scar on his forehead, was now just a mocking comfort.

Godric's Hallow. One of the few towns in Great Britain were muggles and magicals lived side by side. Magic was well hidden, but you could still find a healer's office both witches and wizards, muggle men and women used. A small pub with a hidden second floor and an accessible floo, a small marked open to all - as long as you wore muggle wear, some retail shops who dealt behind the counter and a postal office who also provided owl services. Likewise, the graveyard held generations of both magical and non-magical people. That was at least what the history books stated.

Harry looked around the empty streets. It was a bit too early for people to be wandering about, still dark as it was, but he could still see some windows lightening up as people started their morning routines. There was a small wind running through the streets, but the summer had begun, and the weather was more warm then cold. He had not seen a single person, and all revealing charms had shown nothing. He still kept his portkey close, just in case, because he knew that should he be caught, nobody would know where he was.

The old graveyard lay behind the town church, and was hidden by large yew trees. Harry spotted him standing before a grave.

" _Homenum Revelio_ ," Harry whispered, but found nobody, except the man standing there, bowing his head and staring down at the marble head stone.

 _ **In loving memory of**_

 _James Potter * Lily Potter_

 _And their son Harry_

 _Born 27 March, 1960 * Born 30 January, 1960 * Born 31 July 1980_

 _Died 31 October, 1981_

 _ **The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death**_

"Why did you not kill me?" Harry asked, his own eyes taking in the grave. A simple, yet beautiful flower bouquet was placed underneath the names.

Black gave a small jump and whirled around to stare at him, his grey eyes round and teary.

"H-Harry… you came…"

He remained silent, his face blank as the older man seemed to take in every feature of him. Harry looked down at the grave. James Potter, his supposed father. The man he saw in Lord Voldemort's memory had his own face, except the glasses, he bore none. The Dark Lord had done an old ritual when he was younger, sacrificing the eyes of a dozen barn owls. It had given him quite the night vision too.

Black gave a sad sigh, rubbing his eyes. He had apparently forgone sleep for some time, if the circles underneath his eyes were any estimation.

"I could not have killed a child to save my own life."

"You did not know that, behind the mask, it could have been anyone," Harry pointed out offhandedly, and turned to scrutinise the man, mostly without blinking.

If Black was unnerved by him, it was hidden by the almost desperate stare he was returning. Studying him, almost urgently, Black looked as if was worried Harry might vanish if he let his gaze wander.

"Well, I could never have killed someone so easily. Not when there is another way out," Black answered almost forcefully, as if he was imparting some great knowledge onto him. "Could you?" the man asked, but seemingly not on purpose, as he flushed after saying the words.

"If I was ordered to," Harry answered, after a few tense moments. "If the Dark Lord demanded that I come here, and take your life, I simply would have."

Black's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open. Harry tilted his head curiously.

"I wonder then, if you would have killed me in self-defence, or if you had simply… let me?" Harry speculated snidely, while taking a few steps away from the man, walking around him, observing the trees stretching over the small cemetery.

"You must be around fourteen now, right?" Black asked with a voice filled with grief almost a minute later.

Harry gave an acknowledging sound.

"Did you even go school? Or did your… _Master_ give you private lessons?" Black asked bitterly, but at whom, Harry was unsure.

"It does not really concern you, now does it, Black?" he asked the older man with a sneer.

The man gave a small flinch.

"You knew who I was then?"

"No," Harry answered honestly, "your cousin, Mrs. Lestrange, told me."

"Bellatrix," he hissed sourly.

"Yes, I heard you shared the same corridor, in Azkaban…"

"I was innocent of that!" he yelled.

"Relax. I think I would have known had you been a Death Eater. No, you are quite infamous in certain circles, after all."

Black stared at him in bewilderment for a moment, before seemingly gathering himself.

"So, did you? Did you come here on your Master's orders?" he asked, sounding nervous.

Harry turned around.

"No. Did you come here on yours?"

Black looked confused.

"Mast- ? You mean Dumbledore? H-he's not my… Dumbledore doesn't work like that!"

"You say tomeyto, I say tomahto," Harry muttered unimpressed.

"How do you even- isn't that a muggle saying? Well, I-I came here on my own. He doesn't control my every move - nobody even knows I left the house!" Sirius stammered out.

"So, if I did come here on my Master's orders, this would be a ridiculously easy mission?" Harry pondered aloud.

Black again, seemed too stunned to say a word. Harry gave an easy smile that was neither comforting nor kind.

"Why should I believe anything you tell me?" Harry asked curiously.

Seconds went by as Black tried to get coherent enough to answer.

"I… I was one of your parents' best friends. James' parents practically adopted me, when I ran away from home at sixteen. Lily had a huge heart, treated me like family… When you were born, they named me godfather, in case something happened. I was the one who were supposed to raise you. I don't really know what happened, or how you… ended up where you did, but people think you died that night your parents were murdered, the house was burnt to the ground…"

Black looked at him crushed.

"I was the one who was supposed to care for you, raise you, tell you stories about Hogwarts. Instead… I don't even know if you came here to kill me or not."

Harry choose to remain silent, his posture unchanged. Black seemed to be looking for something, some emotion revealing his true thoughts. Whatever it was, Harry knew he would not find it, Lord Voldemort had trained him to not show his hearth on his sleeve.

"Why did you even come here, Harry?" Black asked miserably.

The man looked at the ground instead of him, his eyes suspiciously misty, his fists clenched.

Harry felt a certain twinge in his stomach, like he often did when he did something wrong in the Dark Lord's mind. Why had he come here? Uncertainty? Curiosity? Anger?

"I don't… really know," he answered honestly, and stared down at the ground too. "I guess I always assumed I understood everything, that my life was decided the moment my father laid eyes on me."

Black looked up shocked, angered, but he thankfully keep quiet.

"I am who he made me. I hold no decisions over my life. I cannot go against him – yet… I cannot trust him as I have previously. _This_ , I must hear from another source."

Harry looked up at the man, he was scared, rightly terrified what the Dark Lord would do to him when he found out about this – and the man would find out. Nobody could lie to Lord Voldemort. However, he _had_ to know.

"What is this Prophesy? Why was he after … my family? Did he really kill them to get to me? Why did he take me then, if he suspected … that _I_ would be his downfall?"

Black looked like he wanted nothing more than sit down, his gaze kept jumping around uncertainly before they settled on the grave standing between them. It seemed to give him strength.

"The Prophesy was made by a witch named Sybill Trelawney, in 1980, to Albus Dumbledore and, even if they didn't know it at the time, a Death Eater."

Harry looked up at him surprised.

"He knew? The Dark Lord knew what the Prophesy said? Then why would he seek it so desperately?"

Black gave a small grimace at the title, but replied either way.

"Well, the Death Eater only heard the first part. About how the child would be born at the end of July to parents who had trice defied him … The Death Eater was caught snooping and thrown out – but by then, he had already heard enough to tell his Master that there was a threat to his person. Enough to put you and your parents in danger."

"So he wanted to know the rest?" Harry reasoned, and Black gave an affirming nod.

"One part he did not know is how that child would be marked, by Vol – I mean You-Know-Who, as his equal."

Harry's brow drew together in thought, before he let out a small shaky breath.

"He wants to know the rest, because he doesn't know for sure if it's me."

Black looked at him worriedly, almost as if he wanted to comfort him.

"He suspects of course, but he doesn't know for sure." Harry continued. "He does not know that he has already marked me as his – equal…"

Black looked down at the black sleeves covering his arms, but Harry shook his head.

"I am not a mere servant. I am… _connected_ to the man in a different way." Harry lifted his hand and brushed away the hair always covering his lightening shaped scar. It was sharp red, as if a knife had just drawn it on his forehead a few days ago, it had always been that way, never heeling properly, often times even bleeding when his father was in a particularly bad mood.

Black inhaled sharply.

"I guess it might be silly of me. I always thought it made me special to him. Connected to him on a higher level than the rest of the Death Eaters. That _I_ was the only one who truly understood him."

"What did he do to you?" Black asked apprehensively, his gaze watching the scar as if it was an aberration.

"Something dark – not even I know what. Some blotched ritual of some kind perhaps… I just know it gave me the ability to feel his emotions, his thoughts and dreams. I slip into his mind, I see what he sees when he is angered, and I asleep. I watch through his eyes as if it were myself. It's how I knew he killed… _them_. I watched him through a dream… Or perhaps it was a memory. I've been doing it for years. I just never understood until now, just _what_ I was seeing."

Harry could feel his breath hitching as he spoke. He slowed down, trying calm himself, but he could not stop his hands from shaking, try as he might.

"When did this happen?" Black asked. His voice was low, almost a whisper. His shoulders dropped as if he had been the fault of everything.

"Years ago, it might have been the same night he took me. I don't really remember. I only know that the process made him weak - something went wrong. He had to go into hiding; I was left with some squib for five years, while he tried to find answers. When he returned, he was more powerful than ever…"

They were quiet for a long time. The morning sunlight was streaming in between the trees and bird-chirps was all around them.

"Tell me the Prophesy," Harry bade and Black looked at him for a short second, before answering.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Harry straightened his back, giving another exhale.

"So we know it has to be a male, because the seer stated 'the Dark Lord will mark _him_ as his equal _._ ' He has to be born at the closing of July, the last days or even minutes of the seventh month, by parent who have gone against him three times…" he clarified, partly to Black and partly to himself.

Black nodded anxiously anyway.

"The Potter's faced him three times?"

"Yes," Black answered, "back then, you were lucky if you ever saw him and lived to tell the tale. Lily and James fought against him three times and walked away alive; it was kind of a huge thing."

Harry nodded, and continued thinking for a few more moments.

"When was the Prophesy made? What month?"

"Well, Dumbledore only told me it was during the winter."

"So he _did_ tell you …," Harry said, glaring at the man suspiciously.

"N-no! Well, h-he told me, but he also told Remus and Minerva!"

"Minerva McGonagall?"

"Yes and Remus Lupin. He was another one of your parents' friends."

"Ah yes. The… _werewolf_. I've heard of him." Harry stated in an aloof manner, but Black apparently saw right through it.

"He's just as human as everyone," he scowled.

Harry stared at him doubtfully, but let the argument die.

"If the Prophesy was made in the winter, the seer obviously meant the following July. Meaning the child had to be born that very year. Where there other children considered?"

Black seemed to have calmed a bit, even if his eyes glinted in both disappointment and sadness.

"There was another boy who fit the criteria. Neville Longbottom. His parents were tortured to insanity shortly after your parents died."

Harry recognized the name. Longbottom, it was the boy Draco was so particularly fond of tormenting.

"But he lives?"

Black looked hesitant.

"He does… but after what I've seen. He won't be defeating Dark Lords any time soon."

Harry looked at him questioningly.

"The boy is a real klutz, always losing his wand and fumbling around with his spells…"

"I see."

"From what I understand, Dumbledore still put all his faith in him, at least for a while. However, the extra attention he received only served to make him jumpy. They've started introducing him to Order members, but as much as I hate to say it, I don't think he'll survive his first fight," Black answered honestly, rubbing his neck.

Harry gave a low snort, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So, the champion of the light is scared of his own shadow. Hence, you look to me…"

"No!" Black declared walking up to him, and for a second, Harry thought he would put his arms around him, but instead the man chose to stop right in front of him, simply meeting his gaze.

"I came because I care! Had I know years ago, what I do now. I would have broken out of prison in a hearth beat. I would have fought my way to you!"

Harry tilted his head, studying the man in front of him. He really seemed to mean it. His grey eyes intense, his jaw set stubbornly and fists clenched. He really seemed to care, almost desperately.

"Alright," he found himself saying and the sadness in the older man's eyes seemed to give way for hope and warmth.

Harry turned away, unsure of how to deal with it.

"So I really am the only one the Prophesy can be referring to …"

"Yes. Dumbledore said that Vol- Well, _You-Know-Who_ will ultimately chose whom it is that will defeat him, and he has not chosen poor Neville as either a target or an opponent."

"I see," Harry said and it felt like a huge weight settled over him, as he thought about his future.

"It speaks of a power he doesn't know about…" Black said, as if trying to give him hope.

"I know nothing the Dark Lord doesn't know. Everything I do, say or believe, he knows. I am but another weapon at his disposal. I cannot go against him…" Harry said bitterly.

"You can run. You can come with me-" Black tried.

"He will find me. The Dark Lord is undefeatable."

"You weakened him, did you not?" Black asked almost desperately. "You said that when he did – whatever it is he did to you, you weakened him! To the point that he had to go into hiding, abandoning his followers to prison or worse!"

Harry shook his head.

"I cannot leave him. He will hunt me down; he will come to me through my scar. If the Dark Lord targets someone, they _will_ die! Just talking to you has already made you a target. You should never have gotten involved with me. I have to go back, and when he asks, I cannot lie to him. No one can lie to the Dark Lord. He always knows the truth!"

Black looked at him sadly, as staring at some broken object he could only hope to fix. Harry turned away from him with a sneer, trying to regain control of himself. He had not lost his cool like this in years.

"He is not undefeatable, Harry. He is not almighty. Just look at me! I've been a thorn in his side for years! Look at Dumbledore, the man is said to be the one Voldemort fears the most!"

"The _Dark Lord_ fears nothing! You too will be dead soon, and I will never even come close to defeating him. When he finds out, I will be killed within the week, and if I'm lucky he will remember my loyalty and give me a shift death-"

" _Harry_!" Black called out shocked.

"What? Did you expect to find a brave Gryffindor when you came here? Did you expect to see the light and pride shine in my eyes when you told me I was the only one capable of defeating the greatest Dark Lord in history?"

"Listen to me-"

"No, you listen to me! I am not powerful! I am _nothing_ compared to him!"

"THAT'S ONLY BECAUSE HE MADE YOU BELIVE IT!" Black screamed and a few second went by in silence as both gathered their breath, glaring at each other. In the end, Black was the one who broke it, his voice now low and placid.

"He has brainwashed you for years to believe him undefeatable. He has made you believe wholly and truly, that there is no one, and have never been anyone stronger. He's been moulding you for years. Don't you see? He is manipulating you, he uses you, he controls your every thought …"

Black stared at him intensely, taking a step forward, Harry watched surprised as the man came forwards and gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"Let me help you, Harry. Let me be your godfather for once."

"I can't leave him. I'm not strong enough…" Harry said, shaking his head softly.

"You don't have to be. There are ways, ways to control you thoughts, what you let others see. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Mind Arts?"

Harry looked confused.

"You mean memory charms? Confounding?"

"No. I am talking about Occlumency. It's an obscure branch of magic, quite unknown… but still, I thought you may have heard of it, seeing as You-Know-Who is a known practitioner of Legilimency, or in simpler terms, mind-reading."

Harry swallowed heavily, but otherwise showed no other reaction. It was not that surprising, truly. Lord Voldemort always knew, he always found out if someone was deceiving him.

"And Occlumency?" Harry asked and Black gave him a small smile filled with confidence.

"It's literary a form of shield. An invisible protection against external intrusion. The protection gives you many advantages, if you get really good at it. Among them you will be able to hide your thoughts, lies and emotions. If you master it to a certain degree you might even be able to resist mind-altering potions, like love potions or Veritaserum."

"So, if I learn this art… I might be able to hide - I might be able to lie to him?" Harry asked uncertainly. It sounded so good, almost too good to be true.

"Yes. Hide your thoughts, your lies, the whole fact that you may be lying. But perhaps more importantly, Vold- well, _he_ won't be able to influence you thoughts. It probably served him perfectly, that bastard, never teaching you. Gave you no power to resist him … He might have been controlling you all along! What thoughts to think, what emotions to feel…" Black growled in anger.

Harry felt a certain sense of sickness. Like he had been assaulted, invaded, but left without a mark. Not that Black looked much better, pale as he was, his neck bulging with supressed anger, his fist clenched tight.

"If it's such an obscure art. Why did you learn it?" Harry asked, some moments later, after his thoughts had settled and well-practiced suspiciousness returned.

Black only gave a light shrug, a pensive smile on his face.

"It was my family. Taught me at a young age, paranoid as they were. Scared others would steal family secrets from my head, or even worse, trick me into joining 'the wrong side'. It only served to make them angrier, when I ended up doing so anyway."

Harry studied him, but the explanation seemed to hold true. He had heard about the Black family's paranoia, had seen it too, quite often in Bellatrix.

"How can I learn this art? I have never seen any books on it at the Manor. I've never even heard it mentioned as far as I can tell…"

"Well…" Black said, rumbling around in his coat pocket and pulling something out.

"Take this. Its… well it was a way your father and I used to stay in touch when we had separate detentions…" he said with a small nostalgic smile and handed him a cloth wrapped package. Harry unrolled it, finding a small hand held mirror hidden within.

"I thought we could use this as a form of communication. I could walk you through the different steps, teach you how to clear your mind and plan other meetings …" the man looked both nervous and excited as he watch him studying the mirror. "It's a two-way mirror. I've got the other one. If you ever need to speak with me, you just say my name into it and I will appear. Likewise, the mirror will give off a small pulse when I speak into the other."

"I see," Harry said, and even if he refused to show it, the small knot at the bottom of his stomach seemed to have loosened. He straightened his shoulders, and cast a quick tempus to check the time.

"I will need get going. They might expect to see me at breakfast."

Black paled and cast his own charm, swearing.

"Oh, bloody hell, they're going to kill me…"

Harry looked at the man concerned.

"Are you in danger?"

"What? Eh… no, well, not literary…" Black blinked. "It's just… Well, they keep a real tight leash on me. If Molly finds out I was out, she will totally rat me out to Dumbledore…"

Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"I thought you said your Master was not the kind to control your every move…"

"He's not my Master!"

"Tomeyto, tomahto…"

"And how do you even know muggle expressions?!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The young house-elf was limping around, refilling goblets. It's gaze jumping around wildly at the different witches and wizards in attendance, but not a sound was uttered as if did its duty. Dressed mostly in black, Death Eater uniforms, they sat side by side waiting for the meeting to begin. Some however, wore elaborated outfits in dark green or silver, to celebrate the Slytherin Crest hanging over the vast fireplace.

"Elf," Harry signalled, and the house-elf bowed lowly before refilling the golden cup in front of him.

"My, my, Master Harry. You have certainly grown. I can hardly imagine you to be the same age as my nephew, isn't that so Lucius?" Bellatrix said as she fawned over him from her chair.

Lucius gave a small fatigued smile from beside his wife, still filled with the same amount of authority, but the pride he had used to exhibit, ever since he could remember, was strained. Lord Voldemort had not been utterly pleased with the man in the last years, after Malfoy had managed to lose some treasured artefact of his and failed to secure Fudge's belief that the Dark Lord was truly gone. Instead, Lord Voldemort had given Draco a more difficult role in the war, to make up for his father's shortcomings.

Harry lifted the gobbled, mostly so that he could leave out answering without appearing rude. Just as he took a small mouthful however, a soft, tantalizing scent met his nose. His Occlumency training kicked in just as the first drop ran down his throat, and the controlling need in his head was dwindled to nothing. Doing a show of spitting the offending drink out, Harry reached for his wand and sent the house-elf screeching to the floor.

"You dare serve me poisoned drinks, you lowly creature?!"

"Master Harry!" Bellatrix called out shaken, before turning to the elf, sending her own nasty curse at it with a glare. "How dare you, you filthy animal!"

People were watching the spectacle, of course, but mostly, they sat silently, some checking their own drinks discreetly, others continued the conversation with their side fellow.

Harry gave the house-elf a vicious glare, cleaning the spilt wine with a motion.

"You are to check all drinks for the same potion, and get me another cup! If you are unable to fulfil this simple duty without poisoning me again, I will remove your head."

"He will kill you, you hear, filth!" the witch hissed after it, and the elf was up and running in seconds. The limp now even more pronounced.

Harry was given a new cup, one even more extravagant than the last, and Bellatrix continued watching him, giving him high praises and making Lucius agree every few minutes.

Poisoning was not uncommon between the Death Eaters, especially mind altering potions that would either make you eager to please said poisoner or mess up in some way. If was a fair game, as long as the Dark Lord was not present, since it could weed out the weak ones and reveal betrayal. Between the Death Eaters, you were either respected or mistrusted, and you gained respect by showing cunning, intellect or pure power.

Bellatrix gave him another saucy wink, and he felt a shiver of disgust run down his spine.

No one trusted each other, not unless you held something again them. Preferably, a sharp knife or a wide spell repertory, but blackmail helped just fine.

Ever since the war broke out openly, Voldemort had chosen to make Harry's person known among the Death Eaters, meaning he no longer bore any mask and attended meetings with the inner circle. He still kept his role on the top of the food chain, and was treated respectfully by all but some of the older members.

"He's a blood-traitor I'm telling you. The Potters have supported mudbloods and squibs for generations, always mixing with the foolishly bold. Have you heard, his own mother…" Alecto Carrow was whispering, not quite loud, but loud enough to call his attention, as well as of those sitting beside her. The woman was small and stocky, dressed in a formal black dress, while her red hair was tied up in a tight bun.

"You are quite bold yourself, Madam," he answered her, taking a slow sip from his new cup.

For a second, the woman looked panicked that she had been discovered, but a sneer was quickly stretched across her face, as she chose to go along with the challenge.

"Are you calling me a liar then, we all know it's true…"

Had this been a year ago, Harry would have been at her throat for challenging him and his, then unknown, parentage. However, Lord Voldemort had already directed him how to act and what to say. His feelings on the matter had been erased and renewed – or so the Dark Lord assumed.

"Whom my parents may have been does not really matter anymore. The Dark Lord choose me as one of his most loyal for a reason. I say we hold faith in his decision. You do trust him, don't you?"

"Of course I do -"

"Then let then the dead rest. We cannot chose our parents, now can we? On the other hand, we can prove them wrong."

The Carrow sister gave him a stiff, but mannerly smile, bowing her head in understanding. Arguing against it would only serve to make her seem petty after all. People nodded along, some lifting their goblets in compliments, others pretending not to have heard the dispute at all.

There was one however, that stood out in his cheer impassiveness. On a pale face, the dark eyes of Severus Snape was boring into the side of his head, and repeatedly, Harry could feel him searching inside his mind for any objective or stray thought. Sirius' training, however, held strong, and not a single unfiltered thought or emotion left his control. Harry remained politely answering questions and keeping up small talk with the Death Eaters nearby, without casting more than a short glance in the Potion Master's direction.

The doors opened, and the Dark Lord stepped in. His followers rose politely, and a small, lipless smile came to his face.

"Ah, my most loyal," the man stated, as he reached the head of the table, and the Death Eaters had resumed their seats. Eager wizards and witches were staring at their Master in reverence and pride.

"Thank you, for coming to this gathering. I hope you all bring good news," he said as he sat down on is customary seat.

A few moments of greetings and acknowledgements went by, as eager admirers tried to get a word in or simply be noticed. The house-elf was quick to serve his master the best he had to offer, while simple interaction went around. All attention however, was at the man up front.

Just a small raise of a hand and all chatter vanished abruptly.

"Yaxley, if you would," the Dark Lord ordered lightly, leaning back in his seat. Red-eyed gaze fell on one of the senior members, a pale haired man with a cold face and a strong build.

"My lord, the Ministry takeover is going smoothly, no one is yet to be suspicious. We have spies in all main departments, and rules are being passed to have more access," Yaxley informed aloofly, though a glint of pride was evident in his steely eyes, and several others gave small sounds of approval.

"That is all well and good, but what about the Minister?" Lord Voldemort asked and turned to Harry.

All attention fell on him, but he simply held eyes for the Dark Lord. His hands folded over the table relaxed, he repeated what he guessed Lord Voldemort had already surmised form his earlier reports. This was after all, only for show. The Dark Lord already knew everything important in his head.

"During our mission yesterday, we successfully got the Minister under our control. I have as of now, Minister Thickness under the Imperious Curse." Harry stated with a small bow of his head to the murmured compliments that followed from those beside him.

"Well done, Harry. You have proven yourself, once again worthy of the inner circle," the Dark Lord said, and Bellatrix gave a small giggle in delight.

"Thank you, my Lord," he murmured, and leaned back.

"Now, what about the school? Are the plans coming into motion?"

This time, it was surprisingly Narcissa Malfoy, instead of her husband answering, a fact that made a few share smirks.

"Draco has successfully restored the Cabinet into perfect condition. He will open it for us at your request, my Lord," Narcissa stated with her chin tilted upwards. It was clear to all that she wanted her son acknowledged for this.

"Excellent, the plan is ready to proceed then."

"My lord," Bellatrix called eagerly. "I would like volunteer myself for this task-"

"Of course, Bella. Hogwarts shall not be invaded without your humble presence," the Dark Lord said and laughter followed. Something that only served to make Bellatrix more pleased with herself.

"Yaxley, Rowle and Gibbon. I expect you all to participate in this. Severus, will already be stationed at the school."

"Of course, my Lord," rang around.

"Fenrir Greyback will also partake in this mission," he stated, to some mumbled comments around the table. "I expect you to keep him on his task, Amycus, Alecto…"

"As you wish, my Lord," the Carrow brother answered, who shared the same stocky build as his sister. "Of course, Master," Alecto replied, giving a lopsided leer.

As the silence rang around the group, Lord Voldemort turned to him, his red eyes glinting in amusement.

"Also, I expect you, Harry, to lead this mission successfully."

"My Lord?" Harry asked surprised. They had yet to release him on any full-scale combats, mostly to hide his existence, but also to use his strength as an ace.

"It is time the world learned of your powers, my son. You will make me proud."

Harry bowed humbly.

"Your wish is my command, father."

The meeting was disbanded soon after, and Harry headed up to his room. The mirror in his pocket had been heating up intermittently during the meeting. He quickened his phase when he felt it warm once more, closing the solid door behind him. He walked into his bedroom, casting the usual intruder wards and eavesdropping cancelers. Opening the heavy jacket, he pulled out the small hand mirror.

"Harry!" the familiar face of Sirius greeted him with a grin, and Harry felt his own face slacken in both joy and relief.

"Hey, Sirius. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, sure. If you don't count the war and this unfair imprisonment I would say splendid," the man muttered sourly, though there was a humorous glint in his eyes.

"I thought you were a free man?" Harry asked, as he loosened the intricate tie he had around his neck.

"Well, Pettigrew is still in Azkaban, and I can walk on the streets without fearing someone will call the aurors on me, but Dumbledore is forcing me to correct every single essay in existence!"

Harry gave a small chuckle.

"Well, that is the life you live, Professor; you will simply have to learn to enjoy it."

"I did not escape Azkaban to read bad misspellings and overly long and boring recaps of the Tarantallegra jinx," the man muttered groggily.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation at the man, while he sat back on his bed, one hand untying his boots, while another held the mirror up high.

"That's what you get when you don't hand out limited assignments… or teach them a grammar charm…"

"I wanted to give them the opportunity to skip the load work. I always wanted a Professor who didn't give a rat's arse about the essays and instead focused on the practical assignments, but these Ravenclaws are taking all fun out of the game!"

Harry threw his head back and laughed at the man's whining, something that made Sirius still and watch him with content eyes. After Sirius had understood he too had a sense of humour, instead of always freezing or getting offended whenever a thinly veiled insult was sent his way, the man had made a game out of making Harry laugh. Jokes, stories, childish complaints or ridiculously complicated pranks. It had all helped breaking the ice that had been between them, even as thick as it was.

"So how is school? Have you learned to read yet?" Harry asked as he settled down on his bed, outer robes casually slung over a chair.

"Hardy har har… It's the same old. Gryffindors and Slytherins fighting, Minnie is as sour as always, Snape is a greasy git and Dumbledore is still sneaking candy into his cereal."

"I see. Have there been any changes in the student population?"

"Well if you're talking about the exams, then you're a right goof, but if you're not, then I assume you're wondering about the Malfoy kid?" Sirius asked, studying his nails.

"Of course, Sirius," Harry replied with false patience.

"What can I say? He's as stressed out as always, and his grades are slipping, but that's how it's been the entire year, right?" the man defended.

"I know. It's just that… He won't talk to me, and I suspect the mission he has been given might prove to be too much for him…"

"I still don't get what you see in the kid, he's perfect Death Eater material if you ask me…"

" _I'm_ perfect Death Eater material, Sirius…" Harry said unimpressed, and the man gave a small grimace. "Draco, on the other hand, is weak. He will either panic and do something stupid, or fail at the last possible moment."

"So you don't want him to get into trouble… but I've done everything I could at the moment. The Gryffindors have stopped harassing him and I have given him plenty of excuses to get out of trouble. Anything more and it might get suspicious…"

They both remained quiet as he gathered his thoughts. However, Sirius soon interrupted him with a silent murmur.

"And you're not…"

"Pardon?" Harry asked and Sirius raised his gaze to stare at him woefully. The strained lines around his eyes making him seem much older.

"… You're not perfect Death Eater material, Harry. You're so much more than that."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but shut it when he realized he didn't really know what. Arguing would only make him appear pitiful, after all. So instead, he gave his godfather a small acknowledging smile.

"So, how is everything at your end?" Sirius coughed after a few tense seconds, his eyes revealing his worry.

Harry shifted into a more relaxed position. Lifting his head, as if giving a report.

"I have been tasked with leading the attack on Hogwarts."

" _What_?!"

"I'm sorry, Sirius. I have no choice in the matter," Harry said before the man could ask – his voice steady.

"B-but I thought he wanted to keep you away from the fighting? Keep you hidden?"

"He has already revealed me to his Death Eaters. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the world knew."

Sirius looked nervous, most likely because of the consequences this could have. People still remembered James Potter. They would recognize the Death Eater uniform for what is was, rather than how old he was. They would come to see him as a traitor.

"It's not too late to turn back now, Harry," Sirius said with a broken voice, he recognized all too well.

"We both know that it's not that easy," he answered, appearing bored.

"Just give me the word, and I will take you away-" the man tried, his eyes desperate, his voice shaky.

"Sirius."

Harry stared down at his godfather sternly, and the man shrunk back.

"I'm sorry… It's just – you're going to be hated. You're going to be hated even though you're innocent. You're so young, only fifteen! You might even be sent to Azkaban… You might-"

"End up like you," Harry finished in a low voice.

They fell silent, Sirius giving small sighs every now and then, his forehead resting against his knuckles.

"I will be okay, Sirius. I will find a way, when the time comes, but now…"

"You can't leave him, you're not strong enough … Yeah, I've heard it all before," Sirius muttered bitterly, before looking up with glum eyes. "Are you sure that you aren't still influenced by him? Maybe he's-"

"Sirius. I have mastered it beyond what we had hoped. No one is even suspicious. I know what to look for, I know when someone or something is affecting me – even poisons are losing their affect!" he replied enthusiastically.

"Yeah – how you managed that is beyond even me. I can't even do that…" Sirius said with another mutter.

"You're a good teacher, Sirius," Harry said with a smile and Sirius looked up from his gloom to return it. "but let's be realistic, you're getting old."

"Wha-!"

"Poor is the pupil who does not surpass his Master…"

"The muggle quotes again!"

"I'm just saying that you have taught me well, but now that I have surpassed you, your work here is done, the reason for your continuing existence dubious. I'm afraid I will simply have to let you go …" Harry muttered staring down at his nails in disinterest.

"B-but-" he spluttered.

"Now Sirius, we had a good run, but I have no need for old mongrels. Goodbye."

"I will cheer up, okay!" the man called desperately.

Harry stared at his godfather doubtfully, but Sirius was grabbing the mirror as if it were his lifeline, his gaze suspiciously puppy-like.

"Good. Because we need to discuss how to deal the next big issue. The attack on Hogwarts will happen any day now," Harry stated as a matter of fact.

Sirius sighed gloomily.

"Have the Order of the Phoenix decided on how to act on it?"

Sirius looked conflicted once more.

"Well, to be honest, I'm not really sure. I mean, Dumbledore have told us about what he learned from Snivellus, that some plan has been set in action and that Malfoy probably has something to do with it, but he is keeping an awful lot to himself. Most of it, I know from you actually."

"But he knows there will be an attack, right?"

"Yes, but he has not exactly put forth many changes. He seems to put all his thrust in the greasy git, oddly enough…" Sirius said with a slight grimace.

"So, the man knows there will be an attack, and he knows the approximate day, but he has not been doing _anything_ about it?" Harry asked doubtingly.

"Not that I'm aware of, he keeps himself mostly in his office these days…" the older man said with a shrug. Harry stared at him confused.

"Something feels wrong about this…"

"Tell me about it," Sirius frowned.

"I mean, does he want us to win? Does he want us to raid the school unopposed?"

"Less fighting, fewer deaths, right?" Sirius asked with a shrug.

"But what about the students? Does he want them to get mixed into this?" Harry frowned deeply.

Sirius too started looking a bit worried.

"I don't really know what to tell you. I mean Dumbledore is a good person; he won't put children in danger if he can avoid it. He must have some bigger plan in action or something. I refuse to believe he will simply give up like that."

Harry stared down at his hands. The man was expected to die, at least according to the Dark Lord, but he did nothing about it.

"You don't think he's suicidal, do you?" Harry asked quietly.

"What, Dumbledore?" Sirius said shocked.

"It would make sense would it not? Not fighting back, not arranging anything. It's like he expects to die …"

Sirius looked truly worried now.

"It can't be. The man would not leave willingly now, not when he has fought back for so long, given so many people hope. Albus wouldn't do something like that – he knows that we need him, especially now."

Harry was still unconvinced.

"Tell me, how well do you really know your Master? He's an old man, he must have been through a lot. He has no loved ones – I've heard that the only family he has left hates him. Nobody really knows much about what went down between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. There might be much hidden in his closet," Harry said carefully and watched as Sirius massaged his forehead.

"No… No, I refuse to think that he is suicidal. Too much depends on him, the war might even be lost if we lose him now, and he knows it!"

Harry looked at Sirius closely, even if he was saying the words with all his might, there was still a shadow of doubt in his eyes, another weight settling on his shoulders. However, there was nothing to be done, this was their business. Harry had no part in it.

"Whatever you say, Sirius."

Harry watched as the mirror shuddered once more, and Sirius' face vanished to be replaced by his own. He breathed through his nose deeply. It did not matter; it _had_ nothing to do with him. This was their conflict.

Merlin knew he had enough on his own plate.

Getting up from the bed, he let his gaze wander to the window. It would have been nice to go for a flight. Just a short one. It had been ages since last. Not since they broke into Azkaban. And even then, even though all on his mind had been on the task, a small part, a very, very small and hidden part had felt…

No. He visibly shook himself. Now was not the time for silly dreams. Harry opened the door leading into the drawing room. Taking in the small desk, he started categorizing the books he might need, and spells he had to practice. There were still a lot to be done before he was ready, completely ready, to face this task. After all, he did not just have to be ahead of his so called enemies. He had to be ahead of the Death Eaters too.

It was almost midnight. His quill was dancing over one of his journals, writing down names of spells, their counter spells, wand motion, physical appearance, colour, speed, what could be countered with magical means, what needed unmagical restoration, the effect on the mind, the after effect and possible permanent effect. It was clear he had moved past the times of simple charms, jinxes and hexes. These were curses, dark curses that he most likely would one day be up against, and many which he already had.

He felt slightly apart from the task he was doing, even though it had his whole focus. Harry repeated the facts over and over again in his head until he was sure he could repeat them in his sleep. Yet, it was an emotionless effort. The effect they had on a human being, a humanoid being like a house-elf, a centaur, an arcumantula, etc. He wrote it all down as if was the easiest thing in the world, and he repeated the words again and again until he knew for certain how a child compared to an adult would react to a skin eating curse, or the werewolf infliction curse… How it would devour the object of the curse at the speed of the casters strength, when he cast the spell. That it could be held off for torture, or speed up for effectiveness. That it could be used in battle easily-

His quill stopped as small jolt of pain went through his scar.

Harry slowly set down his quill, letting the tip rest in its pot. He got up, brushing his clothes neat, before turning around. His books started closing on their own accord, sealing themselves with vicious, teeth-like locks.

He was out the door in seconds, walking though the empty hallway leading from his rooms, to the ones furthest in. There were no pictures on the walls on this part of the manor. No windows that could reveal its existence from the outside. Torches lit along the hallway, weakly, only revealing what was necessary. He walked through shadows meant to trick enemies, certain in his steps towards the room none other than himself and Lord Voldemort had ever seen the insides.

When he reached the door, he did not bother knocking. It groaned open on its own accord. Much like his own, the room was big, stretching in all directions, with a high, oval ceiling. However, instead of a chess set, a large desk dominated the middle, and behind it sat Lord Voldemort.

He no longer wore the black heavy robes from the meeting, but instead simpler ones in dark green. They still made his skin look unnaturally pale and sickly, but the slight colour made him almost appear human. That was until you met his gaze, and were reminded that there was noting human about the red, slit pupils staring back at you.

"Harry," Lord Voldemort welcomed him with a strange half smile. As if he was proud, but over himself, or Harry, was hard to tell.

He bowed lowly anyway, his back straight, his eyes meeting the ground. The scar on his forehead buzzed in pleasure.

"Join me, my son," he said, pointing to the chair opposite him.

Harry stepped forward and took the offered seat.

Silence stretched as a quill ran over parchment, much like his own had done minutes ago. Harry did not look around the big room, nor did he move around unnecessarily. Any form of fiddling and playing had been beaten out of him at a young age. He was to mirror the person in front of him in every aspect.

Finally, the quill came to a stop and the man dried the writing with a simple motion of a hand.

"Harry. How is your training, have you mastered all the spells I have assigned you since last?" he asked, red eyed gaze boring into him.

"Yes, sir. Everything is under control."

"Good," Lord Voldemort said, a small lipless smile playing on his lips. Getting up, he strolled towards the hidden windows. They were spelled invisible from the outside. What greeted you there was an empty wall. Inside however, shaded behind heavy curtains there was a nice view over the Little Harlington cemetery.

"You will start duelling with Bellatrix, tomorrow. I want to see how you will fare against an unpredictable opponent," he turned to look at him. "She will no doubt try to kill you, given the chance. Do not let her defeat you easily."

"Yes, my Lord, as you wish."

Nodding, the man turned away once more.

"I will send Barty to guard you. However, be aware that not even he can stop her when she gets excited," he said simply.

Harry looked up as his scar started buzzing, a clear sign that the Dark Lord was halfway in his head.

"Times are changing, Harry. We are soon at full-blown war. You will no doubt get a lot of enemies, very soon. I want you to be able to handle it."

Pride and delight welled up in his chest, but Harry knew it was fake. He smiled anyway.

"Thank you, father."

"Enemies, will soon also turn their eyes toward my person once more. New enemies. And I want you to become my protector, dear son. I want you to kill those who want to harm me."

Harry got to his feet to kneel before the Dark Lord.

"Tell me, father, who will want to harm you, tell me, and I will make them suffer!"

A finger lifted his chin, and red eyes bore into his mind.

"Even a child?"

Harry could not have prevented the surprise even if he had wanted to. This was not something Lord Voldemort had ever demanded.

"I understand I am asking a lot from you, dear son," he said, no sign of either disapproval or otherwise. "However, I have gained a lot of enemies, and unfortunately, I have left children orphaned during the war, as have my followers." At this he looked at him.

"Even you, a child of two of my enemies, I left without parents."

Harry stilled at the unexpected turn of events. Lord Voldemort never talked about James and Lily Potter unless he had to.

"They would have served me exceptionally, had they not been too stubborn in their ways, had not Albus Dumbledore gotten to them first, poisoned their minds against our cause. James was pureblood you know, he knew the old ways and would have fought right by my side. Lily, while unpure, was brilliant in her own way. A sharp mind and a skilled duellist. She would have been able to rise among my Death Eaters."

Lord Voldemort let him go, but continued observing him.

"And then we have you. Sharp, deadly, shrewd. You have served our cause well, in place of your parents. You have become what they could have been; you have risen among my Death Eaters, as a half-blood. However, not everyone have so graciously been given this chance," he sighed almost theatrically.

"Family members left behind, sons and daughters seeking revenge, it's a never ending circle. However, before one of these threats come to fulfilment, I want you to eliminate it. A boy, your age, will one day become a problem, but before then, I want you to kill him."

Sitting down, the Dark Lord gave him a long look.

"Neville Longbottom. He will never grow up to be anyone, much less anyone who may defy me," the man hissed.

Harry felt his hearth skip a beat, and something must have shown on his face, even though his mind would never betray him, for Lord Voldemort saw his recognition.

Harry stopped himself from swallowing.

"Longbottom, sir? Is that the family the Lestrange's and Barty were sent to prison over?" he asked, curious, as if remembering a long forgotten fact.

"Indeed it is. They were a troublesome family, back then, and during my absence in your early years, they were thought to be held either responsible, or in association. The Lestrange's and Barty, threw an offensive strike against their home, hoping to find answers, unfortunately, they were caught interrogating the targets, which led to their stay in Azkaban."

Lord Voldemort leaned over his desk, his eyes intense.

"The Longbottom's were a part of the Order of the Pheonix, and their son too will follow in their footsteps. While he is no threat at the moment, the boy will grow up to be a man one day, and that day must not come to pass. I want you to dispose of him."

Harry nodded. The boy, Neville Longbottom was just a child, he might be the other candidate for the prophesy, but he was weak, innocent and nothing indicated that this might change in the future, at least according to Sirius.

"I can see that this troubles you my son," Lord Voldemort said with unusual kindness.

"Of course not, my Lord. I will do as you ask," Harry stated firmly, lowering his head.

"That you will," the man smiled, but eyes narrowed. "but as an extra initiative, let's make this a competition. You will kill him, or Bellatrix will," at this Harry did not bother hiding his disgust.

Lord Voldemort chuckled, "Yes, I can see you are already well aware of her special hatred she holds for the Longbottom's. She desperately wants to finish what she started."

Harry got up, bowing, a hoard of mixed feelings welling up in his chest – some his own, other not.

"I will do whatever it takes my lord."

"I have no doubt of that, Harry."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Just one more, Albus. It's the last one, I-I promise. You have to drink it, please. Do it for me, do it for us…" Sirius pleaded, his face pale and hands trembling in both guilt and fear.

The old man lying at his feet, crying and shaking his head like an obstinate child was not the grand sorcerer he had heard frightening tales of in his youth, nor the eccentric, and slightly mysterious man he had grown up knowing as his Headmaster and friend. No, this damaged man, he did no longer recognize at all.

"Just drink it, it will be good for you, I promise. It will end after this…"

"No… No more… Please-"

"I'm sorry, Albus, I'm so sorry. One more, it's the last one."

Finally, the old man drank the last of the poisonous liquid, shuddering all along.

"Albus? Albus, are you alright?" Sirius asked, his voice hoarse and anxious.

The man sat bent, his back against the hard rocks, his face pale and sweaty. When his eyes opened, they cleared, as if the hallucination was simply a spell and he gave a tired sigh.

"Water," Dumbledore rasped, his voice dry, but familiar.

Sirius stood hurriedly, happy to be of use in another less painful way. He walked over to the now plain basin. The golden locket had become visible at the last mouthful of potion, and Sirius carefully lifted it.

" _Aguamenti_ ," he said, pointing his wand at the bowl, and tried scooping it up with the same cup, but the water dried up in seconds, and after several tries, he had to give up. Looking at the underground lake, he gave a small shudder, the Inferi they had seen earlier rested there, it was better to keep that water as untouched as possible, in case it would rouse them.

"I'm sorry, Albus, you will have to wait a bit longer for that water…"

"I-it's alright, my boy…" the man mutter, eyes closed as if he were falling asleep.

Sirius gave a tired sigh, his hands gripping the cursed locket behind the whole affair. Turning it over in his hands, he began studying it.

"Wait a minute…" he muttered, "I've seen this before."

Dumbledore was too exhausted to talk, still resting against some of the rumble, and Sirius had not the heart to wake him yet.

Casting a few revealing charms he had learned during his auror training back in the day, he discovered nothing. The necklace was decidedly not harmful in any way according to his spells, but that should be wrong, if what Dumbledore had told him earlier was true. It was decidedly un-dark too. Not a single dark spell had touched the thing. It was simply an object.

Casting a small glance at the still drained older wizard, he flickered its latch back, opening it. Inside, there was a simple folded note.

 _To the Dark Lord,_

 _I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more._

 _R.A.B_

Sirius looked up stunned.

"This is fake – the real one… Kreatcher! " he yelled, waking the older wizard.

The house-elf popped in with a grimace - but when he noticed their location, his expression went from disgust to panic in seconds. A firm hand on his arm stopped him from escaping.

"Does it look familiar, Kreacher? Have you been here before?" Sirius demanded to know, glaring down at the old elf.

Kreacher looked as if he was trying to keep his mouth from responding.

"Speak elf! Have you been here before?!"

"Yes, traitorous Master, Kreacher has been here before," he replied through grinded teeth.

"This locket, I've seen you carrying around one before – the real one. This is a fake isn't it? What did Regulus do? Tell me!" Sirius ordered.

"Master Regulus called me to this cave. He asked me to take the real locket, he asked Kreacher to destroy it if he was unable to return. Master Regulus died in this cave, h-he never returned, so Kreacher have tried to destroy it, h-he has tried, he truly has- but he has failed Master Regulus…" Kreacher forced out, before sobbing hysterically, his wrinkled hands gripping his long ears.

Sirius swallowed heavily, his gaze falling on the too still water around them.

"Bring me the real one."

A moment later, and with the real locket in hand, Sirius turned to the old wizard, who laid weak, but awake some feet away. However, before either of them reached to say anything, Dumbledore started couching harshly, some of the liquid potion seeping from his lips. He seemed to be in great pain, his white brows scrunched together in a grimace, his breath laboured. Sirius put the note and necklace in his pocked and approached the man.

"We better get you to Madam Pomfrey, Albus."

"No… Severus, take me to Severus…" Dumbledore requested weakly.

Sirius stared worriedly at the old man, but gave a nod.

With the Dumbledore leaning on shoulders, they began the difficult path back through the defences, guarding the cave.

Hogsmead was cold and dark when they arrived, the clouds hung over them heavily and a chilled wind blew through the streets.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here!" a familiar voice called from the Three Broomsticks.

Madam Rosmerta came running towards them in only her silky dress-grown and fluffy slippers.

"I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to do," she said as she came to a halt, panting.

"What's happened, Rosmerta?" Sirius asked, lightly supporting older wizard, who got quite a few confused and worried looks from the barkeeper.

"The Dark Mark, Sirius. The Dark Mark is hanging over Hogwarts!"

Sirius felt dread flood him as he turned and saw the blazing green skull hanging over the Astronomy tower.

"Dear Merlin," he heard Albus whisper.

They entered Hogwarts through the Astronomy tower. Both had their wands out the minute they dismounted Rosmerta's brooms, Dumbledore looked drained, but his face was narrowed in a severe glare as he looked across the room.

Footsteps echoed from the staircase and they pointed their wands at the source. The door flew open.

"Expelliarmus!" Sirius yelled at the first sign of a person, but his spell was easily deflected. As was the silent spell sent by Dumbledore.

The black clad wizard in front of them had his wand raised defensively, his face unimpressed, and green eyes staring back at them coldly.

Sirius gave a sharp inhale in shock, his gaze flickering to Dumbledore to goad his reaction. Instead of disbelief, however, he was surprised to see only animosity reflected in his eyes.

"Harry Potter," the old wizard said, the strength of his voice was in no way an embodiment of his weakened appearance.

"Albus Dumbledore," the young man replied almost politely, his wand however, was still pointed at them in obvious opposition.

Sirius, realizing that his own wand had dropped, pulled it up shakenly, the remembrance of the last time they had been at the end of each other's wands still fresh on his mind.

"So it's true what I've heard. You truly have turned to the dark," the older wizard said, sounding both disappointed and unsurprised.

"You make it sound as if following the Dark Lord is a choice," Harry said, taking a step closer. Behind him, an unnatural pale Draco Malfoy stood with his own wand in hand.

"Are you saying it isn't?" Dumbledore asked, sounding honestly curious.

"No… I just think it's funny that you think I would have chosen anything else," the young man said with an ugly sneer at the old wizard, before turning around with a smile – as if the whole argument had not occurred.

"Hello godfather. I heard you got out of Azkaban recently. Must have been difficult, reliving the guilt of murdering your loved ones every day…," he said with an uncaring smile, and Merlin it would have been the perfect blow, if not Harry had criticized his guilt for months already.

Still, it was a pretty good stab, and Sirius felt his facade drop for a second as he stared open-mouthed at the brat, for even daring to use it against him. That, however, seemed to be just what he was aiming for, if the smirk he sent his way meant anything.

"Draco Malfoy. I take it you are behind the happenings tonight?" the old wizard asked as he turned towards him, Harry had taken some steps away to let him through, but it was clear he was still guarding him.

"Yeah, and right underneath your nose, old man!" the boy said with a half-sneer. However, his wand hand was trembling, and sweat was slicking his forehead.

"Ingenious, I must say. Finding a way to let them in," he said, with a small tilt of his head towards Harry, who simply gave an empty smile. "I take it you are behind the crude attempts on my life? Sending me a cursed necklace with a student. Giving me poisoned mead?"

Sirius stared at Dumbledore shocked.

"You knew it was me?" Draco asked just as surprised. "Why didn't you stop me then?" the boy sent a nervous look in Harry's direction.

"Oh, I knew. There just wasn't much I could do. I know you were tasked to kill me, which it is what you came here to do tonight-"

"Don't let him distract you, Draco!" Harry ordered harshly, his wand pointed at the older wizard.

"Harry… I wonder if you too are only a piece of Lord Voldemort's elaborated games. Do you even have individual thoughts? Or has he conditioned you to follow his every command, his every wish-"

" _Don't you dare_ speak His name, so blatantly Dumbledore! Kill him, Draco!" Harry spat acidly, his eyes narrowing in anger. Sirius was too shocked to speak. Had he known? Had Dumbledore always known?

The blonde-haired Slytherin lifted his wand further, but his arm was too shaky, his face scrunched in fear. Just then, the doors were hurled open once more, and two more Death Eaters came storming in.

"Well, well. Dumbledore cornered, with only a single dog to protect him," Bellatrix snickered, her crocked wand pointed at her cousin.

"Good job, Draco, Master Harry," Fenrir said with a tilt of his head, his pointy teeth bloody.

"Ah, Fenrir, Bellatrix. Good evening to you," Dumbledore said, his face still stern, even if his voice sounded much like always.

"Still making jokes at your death bed, then," Bellatrix sneered.

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," Dumbledore replied.

They could hear the battle taking place downstairs now, as distant spells and explosions set off, shaking the tower. The two older Death Eaters moved forwards, angry green lights leaving their wands, but Dumbledore stepped forwards blocking it. Meanwhile Sirius had to duck as an unknown blue spell flew over his shoulder. He turned to see Harry twirling his wand with a mocking grin.

"Come on doggy, don't be such a bore. Leave your Master and play with me," he said, and Sirius would have laughed, had the situation allowed him.

Instead, he answered with a spell of his own, and the two began a dangerous mock duel, with Harry protecting the blond-haired wizard behind him, and Sirius, helping Dumbledore whenever he could see an opening.

The door banged opened once more, and there stood Snape, his gaze flickering over those present. Fenrir seemed to trust his lead, and let him pass, as did a reluctant Bellatrix, and when Harry too pulled back to let the man past him, Sirius stood confused.

"Severus…" Dumbledore whispered, his voice now sounding as exhausted as his appearance indicated.

" _Impedimenta_!" Snape yelled, pointing his wand at Sirius, and the sharp hex sent him sailing through the room, landing on the floor underneath the stairs.

"Severus… please…" he heard the old man plead, but before he could move, he heard the unmistakable incantation of the killing curse.

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

Harry pulled Draco with him harshly, and the boy stumbled after him in shock. The Death Eaters headed for the stairs, but before they reached to do anything, Harry sent a stunning curse in the direction of Sirius. The man was pale, his mouth open in shock, but Harry could not allow him to do something rash.

"Let's go!" he yelled, hindering anyone from doing anything more, and with Snape in the lead, they headed for the exit in quick strides, only interrupted when they passed combatants to either pull them along, or neutralize them.

" _Crucio_!" Harry yelled, and a plumb woman with curly grey hair fell down screaming as they ran past her.

Draco still seemed to be in shock, his face pale, looking like he was fighting down bile. Harry grabbed a tighter hold of his upper arm, pulling him with him.

"Focus!" he hissed at the older boy when he stumbled once more and Snape sent a small concerned glance in their direction.

The Death Eater that weren't fighting their opposition, were wreaking havoc – smashing windows, destroying paintings and blowing up statues. They ran down another set of stairs, and Harry could see Bellatrix running ahead, laughing as she jumped on top of a table inside what had to be the Great hall, kicking over plates and goblets and breaking windows. He pulled Draco along when the boy stopped moving to stare, open mouthed, at the destruction.

They strode out of Hogwarts and into the dark grounds, and the few who had remained behind vandalizing, were soon running to catch up with them. The cold night air was blowing harshly, rain falling from the skies. When Draco tripped and fell, remaining on his back to stare at the skull hovering over Hogwarts, Harry stopped too, letting the other Death Eaters continue without them.

"Oh, Merlin..." Draco murmured in a broken voice from the ground.

He could understand it, in a way. This had been the boy's home for the last five years, and to see it invaded this way must have taken its toll on him.

"Draco," Harry said, catching the other boy's attention. "we must leave. The aurors will be here any minute now. They will discover his body-"

"Shut up! SHUT. UP!" Draco cried out, his hands pulling at his hair in shock. His breath hitching as he started hyperventilating.

"Draco, pull yourself together!" he said harshly, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

The boy looked up cautiously, his eyes foggy. Harry's sneer doubled.

"This is war. This is what you have wanted for years! This riot, this was _your_ doing," Harry hissed, pointing at the castle.

The boy started shaking his head softly, tears streaming down his face.

"N-no... No, I-I didn't mean for it to … I didn't want to-"

"It doesn't matter. You chose this life. You chose this path. There is no turning back anymore," Harry spat ruthlessly.

"I-I didn't want _this_! … I-I could escape – I could run…"

"And where would you go? The Dark Lord would find you within days. Your attempts would prove futile. It's too late to run now. You have freely given yourself to the Dark Lord. That mark on your arm – that's your signature."

Draco looked down at his left arm, sobbing quietly.

"It's time you grew up, Malfoy. You have a role in this war now, just like all of us," Harry said, his voice now boarding on impassiveness, as the truth of it all sank in, for both of them.

Draco looked up. He seemed so scared, so young, too innocent to be part of such things, but if Harry had no choice, why the heck should he?

The boy nodded his head morosely, his eyes exhausted, his shoulders burdened. He got to his feet on his own, swallowing the last of his snivels.

Together, they headed for the forest. Harry gave the ancient castle another look, the glaring skull overhead made the whole ground shine eerily green. Someone had set fire to a small hut, standing just outside the forest. People were still fighting, but it was mostly one sided, as the Death Eaters were pulling back laughing.

Harry motioned for the boy to pick up his Portkey and with a last look at the blazing Dark Mark, he closed his eyes and activated it.


End file.
